The next morning, Mayra proved that “management” meant asking Jose for confidential maintenance information while pretending she was merely curious.
I had underestimated her.
This was a mistake I was beginning to make regularly.
Jose stood in the hallway outside Room 317 with a replacement window screen tucked beneath one arm and a toolbox in the other.
Mayra leaned against the doorframe.
Casual.
Friendly.
Dangerous.
“So those utility shafts…” Jose stopped tightening a screw.
“No.” Mayra blinked.
“I didn’t ask anything yet.” “You were going to.” “I was going to ask a completely normal question.” “About utility shafts.” “Maybe.” Jose returned to the screen.
“No.” I watched from Amelia’s shoulder.
Amelia had insisted I remain somewhere concealed enough that passing students would not notice a mosquito behaving like a staff member during a facilities consultation.
Apparently Amelia considered her shoulder concealed enough.
I disagreed, although her hair did provide excellent cover.
Mayra tried again.
“So hypothetically—” “No.” “What if—” “No.” “Do you say anything besides no?” Jose looked at her.
“Yes.” Mayra brightened.
“Can I see the maintenance plans?” “No.” I almost laughed loudly enough to expose myself.
Amelia’s shoulder shifted beneath my feet; she was suppressing the same reaction.
Mayra placed one hand over her heart.
“Jose.” He sighed.
“Mayra.” “We may have animals in the walls.” “We definitely have animals in the walls.” “Exactly.” “Which is why pest control is coming.” “But what if we want to know where they’re coming from?” Jose slowly turned.
“We?” Mayra froze.
Amelia answered without hesitation.
“She means our floor.” Mayra nodded too quickly.
“Yes.
Community safety.” Jose stared at both women.
Then shook his head.
“Students aren’t supposed to enter service areas.” “We don’t want to enter them.” I groomed one antenna.
Liar.
“We just want to understand them.” Also liar.
Jose finished installing the new screen.
Then stood.
“Why?” Mayra opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Amelia stepped in.
“There have been repeated animal intrusions, damaged screens, and something large enough to bend a utility grate from the inside.” Jose’s expression changed.
Slightly.
She continued.
“If the problem extends vertically through the east-side chase, knowing where it connects could tell us which rooms should keep their vents closed until pest control finishes.” That was actually reasonable.
Jose considered it.
Mayra looked impressed.
So was I.
Amelia could apparently deploy normal-person logic when necessary.
Jose scratched his jaw.
“The building map isn’t secret.” Mayra’s face lit.
“But the detailed service diagram isn’t something I’m handing out.” Her face fell.
“I can show you the general chase layout.” Acceptable.
Very acceptable.
He pulled out his tablet.
Opened a building schematic.
Mayra moved closer.
Amelia did too.
I crawled farther from Amelia’s hair.
Jose zoomed in.
East Residence Hall.
Rectangular building.
Four occupied floors above a basement.
Central hall.
Rooms lining both sides.
Several vertical service chases.
He highlighted one.
“Your bathrooms, vent stack, water lines, and electrical conduits all share this run.” The highlighted shaft passed beside Room 317.
Then 217.
117.
Into the basement.
Exactly where I had flown.
Jose traced the route downward.
“It ends near mechanical room three.” My attention sharpened.
Yesterday I had entered through the laundry-side chase, then moved upward.
But the strange energy current had seemed to come from deeper and lower.
Mechanical room three.
Mayra asked: “What’s in there?” “Boilers.
Pumps.
Water treatment equipment.
Old steam lines.” “Anything radioactive?” Jose looked at her.
“No.” “Ancient cursed artifact?” “No.” “Portal?” “Mayra.” “Just checking.” Amelia’s shoulder moved beneath me.
I delivered the idiot buzz very quietly.
Mayra’s eyes flicked toward me.
She smiled.
Jose noticed.
“What?” “Nothing.” Danger avoided.
He zoomed again.
“There’s also an old sub-basement corridor here.” My attention snapped back.
Below the main basement level, a narrow rectangular section appeared.
Mayra leaned closer.
“We have a sub-basement?” “Not really.” Those words guaranteed we absolutely had a sub-basement.
Jose continued.
“Original building was partially built over an older utilities foundation.
Most of it was sealed during renovation.” Sealed.
Excellent.
Because sealed underground spaces were famously where nothing terrible ever happened.
“Why?” Amelia asked.
“Flooding.
Mold.
Bad access.” Jose shrugged.
“Cheaper to wall it off than refurbish.” Mayra pointed.
“Does the chase connect to it?” Jose zoomed.
A thin service line dropped from mechanical three toward the sealed section.
“Technically.” My wings spread slightly.
There.
Amelia felt the movement.
She glanced toward me.
I pointed subtly toward the screen.
Then down.
She understood.
Jose continued.
“There’s a pipe access, but nobody uses it.
It’s supposed to be capped.” Supposed to be.
Another dangerous phrase.
Mayra asked: “When was anyone last down there?” Jose frowned.
“No idea.” He checked something on the tablet.
“Official inspection…
nine years ago.” Nine.
Years.
I rubbed my front legs together.
Amelia felt it.
Her hand rose casually and blocked me from taking off.
Not now.
I stopped.
Jose closed the schematic.
“That’s all you’re getting.” Mayra smiled sweetly.
“Thank you.” “I mean it.” “We appreciate you.” “Stay out of the maintenance areas.” “Absolutely.” I buzzed long and high.
Idiot.
Mayra coughed to hide her laugh.
Jose looked between the three of us.
For one brief moment, I wondered whether he knew far more than he let on.
Then his radio crackled.
“Jose, fourth-floor sink clog.” His eyes closed.
“Coming.” He left.
Mayra waited until the stairwell door closed.
Then turned to us.
“Sub-basement.” Amelia looked at her.
“No.” Mayra frowned.
“You haven’t even heard the plan.” “I have.” “How?” “Because the plan is going into the sealed sub-basement.” Mayra crossed her arms.
“…Yes.” “No.” I flew from Amelia’s shoulder.
Mayra pointed at me.
“He agrees with me.” I buzzed once.
Yes.
Amelia looked betrayed.
“Of course he does.” I landed on the desk.
Amelia lowered her voice.
“We know there are mutated insects inside the service chase.” Exactly.
“One was large enough to pursue you.” True.
“And something is leaking energy from below.” Also true.
She looked between us.
“That is a reason to be cautious.” Mayra nodded.
“Agreed.” “Not a reason to walk directly toward it.” Mayra paused.
“Agree to disagree.” Amelia stared.
I used the idiot buzz.
Mayra pointed at me.
“Whose side are you on?” Survival’s.
Mostly.
I flew to the communication notebook.
Amelia reluctantly opened it.
I spelled: S C O U T Then: N O T A L L Amelia read.
“Scout.
Not all.” Yes.
I pointed to myself.
Then downward.
Her expression hardened.
“No.” Here we go.
I spelled: S M A L L She sighed.
Q U I E T Her eyes narrowed.
F A S T “Plenteaful.” I pointed toward our own handwritten rule.
MOSQUITO FIRST.
EVERYTHING ELSE SECOND.
Mayra smiled triumphantly.
Amelia looked at her.
“Do not encourage him.” “I’m not.” She absolutely was.
I continued.
M A P F I N D L E A V E Amelia read the sequence twice.
Map.
Find.
Leave.
No fighting.
No trait hunting.
No improvisational heroics.
Probably.
Her eyes locked onto mine.
“At the first sign of significant danger, you retreat.” One buzz.
Yes.
“No biological sampling.” I hesitated.
She noticed.
“Plenteaful.” One buzz.
Yes.
Mayra whispered: “That hurt him.” Amelia ignored her.
“No combat unless escaping requires it.” Yes.
“You report before going deeper than the sealed access point.” I paused.
That condition reduced scouting efficiency.
Amelia crossed her arms.
I buzzed yes.
“Good.” Victory.
Mostly.
Mayra pumped one fist.
“Mission.” Amelia looked at her.
“You are staying here.” Mayra froze.
“What?” “You are human.” “So are you.” Amelia’s expression turned very slightly dangerous.
“Biologically.” “That’s speciesist.” I nearly fell off the notebook.
Amelia closed her eyes.
Mayra continued.
“I can help.” “You cannot fit through a vent.” “I have hands.” “So does Jose.” “Jose doesn’t know about mutant centipedes.” Amelia’s expression became colder.
“And that is precisely why you will not enter an enclosed maintenance shaft containing them.” Mayra opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
That argument was difficult to beat.
Amelia continued.
“You can help from the room.” Mayra looked offended.
“Doing what?” She answered: “Management.” Silence.
Mayra slowly smiled.
“I hate you.” “No, you don’t.” Unfortunately accurate.
— The second reconnaissance began after lunch.
Students filled the hallways.
Bad time for humans.
Excellent time for a mosquito.
Nobody noticed one more insect drifting near the ceiling.
Mayra remained in Room 317 with Jose’s general map copied by hand.
Amelia positioned herself in the third-floor bathroom near the access vent.
I carried nothing, because being a mosquito occasionally had logistical advantages.
Mayra had wanted to attach a thread to me.
Absolutely not.
Then she suggested a microscopic reflective marker.
Also no.
Then a tiny camera.
That had led to an argument about payload weight and whether I was willing to become “drone-adjacent.” I was not.
Instead, communication depended on return trips.
Crude.
Reliable.
Amelia loosened the bathroom vent with a screwdriver Mayra had somehow acquired.
I did not ask.
She lifted the grate two inches.
Darkness beyond.
Warm air.
Same smell.
Dust.
Metal.
Insects.
I hovered at the entrance.
Amelia whispered: “Map.
Find.
Leave.” I buzzed once.
“Do not make me come after you.” I looked at the opening.
Then back at her.
How exactly would she fit?
Amelia’s eyes narrowed.
“I will find a way.” I believed her.
Into the dark I went.
— The service chase felt different during daylight—not brighter, but alive with the building’s activity.
Water moving.
Pipes expanding.
Doors closing.
Footsteps transmitted through walls.
Human life surrounded me unseen.
I descended.
Third floor.
Second.
First.
Basement.
I recognized the laundry branch.
The large centipede wasn’t visible.
Good.
I continued downward.
The main shaft narrowed near mechanical level.
Heat increased.
Steam pipes.
Electrical hum.
Then I saw the cap Jose had mentioned.
Or rather— what should have been a cap.
A round metal cover hung sideways from one screw.
The opening behind it led down.
Old pipe access.
Not sealed.
Something had forced it open.
Scratches covered the rim.
My body tightened.
This was it.
I landed nearby.
Listened.
Nothing.
The Codex displayed: — Environmental spiritual-energy concentration increasing.
— Stronger than upstairs?
Barely.
But yes.
Direction downward.
I should report.
Amelia had specifically said report before going deeper than sealed access.
I looked into the opening.
Dark.
Warm current rose from below.
Interesting.
Maybe just one quick look.
The Codex remained silent.
I could practically feel Amelia judging me from three floors away.
Fine.
Agreement mattered.
I turned.
Started upward.
Then something buzzed past my face.
I jerked sideways.
A fly.
Ordinary?
No.
It landed on the wall.
Larger than normal.
Dark green abdomen.
One wing slightly deformed.
The Codex scanned.
— Common blowfly — minor mutated variant No high-value compatible traits detected.
— Not worth diverting for.
I continued.
Then saw another.
And another.
Three.
Four.
All moving upward from the sub-basement access.
Mutated.
Small changes.
Nothing dramatic.
A beetle followed.
Then a silverfish.
Like organisms were emerging from below after exposure.
Proof.
I flew upward faster.
Report.
— Amelia was waiting at the vent.
I emerged.
She immediately held out her hand.
I landed.
“You came back.” The surprise offended me.
I buzzed the idiot signal.
Her mouth twitched.
“Report.” We returned to Room 317.
Mayra had turned the desk into mission control.
Map.
Notebook.
Two drinks.
Snacks.
A handwritten sign: OPERATION BUG BASEMENT Amelia looked at it.
“No.” “What?” “Name.” “Too late.” I landed beside the map.
Spelled: C A P O P E N Mayra wrote.
“Sealed access is open.” Yes.
S C R A T C H F R O M B E L O W Amelia’s face tightened.
“Something came through from the sub-basement.” Yes.
Then: M U T A N T S C O M I N G U P Mayra stopped writing.
“Multiple?” Yes.
“Big?” No.
Small.
Minor.
Amelia paced.
There it was again.
Bad sign.
“The source is below.” Yes.
“Stronger energy?” Slightly.
I indicated small.
Mayra looked at the map.
“So we found it.” “No,” Amelia said.
Mayra frowned.
“We found where they’re coming from.” “We found the direction.” Important distinction.
I pointed toward the sub-basement.
We needed the next step.
Amelia looked at me.
Then shook her head.
“No.” I hadn’t asked yet.
“You want to go down.” Yes.
“No.” We had been over this.
I started spelling.
Amelia placed one finger gently on the page.
Stopped me.
“The access is damaged from below.” True.
“The organisms are moving away from the source.” Also true.
“Something larger may be there.” Probably.
“And the energy concentration increases in that direction.” Yes.
She met my eyes.
“Which means this is no longer reconnaissance through familiar territory.” She was right.
Again.
Annoying.
Mayra leaned forward.
“What if Amelia goes with him?” Amelia turned.
Mayra raised both hands.
“Not inside the pipe.” Necessary clarification.
“Use the actual basement.” Amelia paused.
Mayra tapped the map.
“Jose said the sealed area is below mechanical three.
There has to have been a human entrance originally.” Of course.
Doors.
Stairs.
Maintenance corridor.
Amelia could approach physically from there.
I could scout ahead.
Much better.
Mayra smiled.
“Management.” I used the idiot buzz.
She ignored me.
Amelia studied the map.
“Old plans may show an access stair.” Mayra was already searching online.
“University archive.” Interesting.
“How do you know?” “My mom does property records.” First useful biographical detail in several minutes.
She searched Westbridge construction permits.
Old campus renovation pages.
Nothing.
Then: “Found something.” A scanned PDF.
Building-renovation proposal from sixteen years ago.
Floor plans.
Old.
Low resolution.
But enough.
Mayra zoomed.
Sub-basement.
A stairwell existed behind mechanical room three.
Marked: DECOMMISSIONED ACCESS Amelia stared.
Mayra smiled.
“You’re welcome.” I flew onto her shoulder.
Tapped once.
Good management.
She looked delighted.
“Did he compliment me?” Amelia sighed.
“Unfortunately.” — We waited until evening, when fewer maintenance workers and students moved through the basement.
Mayra stayed upstairs as agreed.
Mostly because Amelia threatened to physically carry her back if she followed.
I believed her.
Amelia wore dark clothes.
Nothing dramatic.
Black jeans.
Black hoodie.
Hair tied back.
She looked like a student heading to the gym.
Except for the former-empress part.
And me on her shoulder.
We entered the basement using the main stairwell.
Students rarely came down beyond laundry.
Mechanical room three sat past a gray door marked: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY Locked.
Amelia touched the handle.
I expected ice.
Magic.
Ancient cultivation.
She pulled a hairpin from her pocket.
I stared.
She inserted it into the lock.
Two seconds.
Click.
The door opened.
I hovered beside her.
Long high buzz.
Idiot.
She looked offended.
“What?” I pointed toward the lock.
Then her.
Ancient empress.
Hairpin.
She understood.
“Competence does not require spectacle.” Fair.
We entered.
Mechanical three was loud.
Pumps.
Pipes.
Huge metal equipment.
Heat.
The air smelled like oil and dust.
No people.
Amelia closed the door.
I took off.
The old access stair lay behind a row of insulated pipes.
Hidden by a temporary plywood partition.
Amelia found the seam.
Pushed.
The panel moved.
Someone had opened it before.
Recently?
Dust disturbed near the floor.
My attention sharpened.
Behind it— concrete steps descended.
Dark.
A chain hung across the entrance.
Old warning sign: CLOSED — STRUCTURAL HAZARD Amelia looked at me.
I looked at the stairs.
Finally.
Sub-basement.
She removed the chain without letting it strike the railing.
Then something moved below.
Both of us stopped.
Scrape.
Not centipede legs.
Heavier.
Slow.
Drag.
Pause.
Drag.
Amelia’s hand rose.
Faint frost gathered.
I moved ahead.
She whispered: “Stay close.” We descended.
One step.
Two.
The air changed.
Spiritual energy.
Still faint by Amelia standards.
Strongest I’d felt anywhere in the building besides her.
The Codex confirmed.
— Localized environmental energy anomaly detected.
— Another step.
The concrete walls below were damp.
Old paint peeled.
Rust streaks.
Then we reached the bottom.
A corridor stretched ahead.
Half flooded.
Old maintenance doors lined one side.
Pipes overhead.
And insects— everywhere.
Cockroaches.
Beetles.
Silverfish.
Centipedes.
Flies clinging to walls.
Hundreds.
Maybe thousands.
Most ordinary.
Some mutated.
All oriented in the same direction.
Toward the far end of the corridor.
Amelia’s face became serious.
“They’re gathering.” Yes.
Not random exposure.
Drawn.
Like I had been drawn to her blood.
Like the spider to me.
Something at the end of this corridor was attracting them.
I lifted higher.
Then saw movement near the ceiling.
A pale shape.
Long legs.
Moth?
No.
Too large.
A moth landed on an old pipe.
Wingspan perhaps twelve centimeters.
White-gray.
Patterns on its wings almost matched the corroded metal behind it.
The Codex scanned automatically.
— Mutated moth detected.
Notable adaptive signature present.
— My front legs began rubbing together.
Amelia noticed.
“No.” I hadn’t done anything.
“Investigation first.” Fine.
I looked deeper into the corridor.
The insects thickened toward one door.
Metal.
Old.
Partially open.
Faint greenish-white light leaked through the gap.
Not electrical.
Energy.
The Codex reacted.
— Unknown concentrated biological-energy source detected.
— There.
The source.
We had found it.
Then— Drag.
Something moved behind us.
I turned.
Amelia turned.
At the base of the stairs— a massive centipede crawled into view.
Thirty centimeters.
Black-red shell.
Too many legs.
The same one from the shaft.
Its antennae moved.
It saw us.
Amelia’s hand filled with frost.
I opened my wings.
The centipede did not charge.
Instead— it moved past us.
Toward the glowing door.
Ignoring both of us completely.
We watched.
It joined the other insects.
All gathering.
All facing the same source.
Amelia whispered: “This is worse.” I understood.
Predators ignored prey.
Mutated insects ignored territorial instincts.
Everything was being drawn toward the same place.
Something beyond that door mattered more than hunger.
I looked at Amelia.
She looked at me.
Then toward the green-white light.
We had accomplished the mission: map, find, leave.
Exactly as promised.
Amelia whispered: “We go.” Correct.
Responsible.
Mature.
I turned toward the stairs.
Then the door at the end of the hall creaked.
Opened one inch farther.
The energy surged.
Every insect in the corridor stopped moving.
At once.
My Codex filled my vision with red.
— WARNING UNKNOWN HIGH-VALUE BIOLOGICAL MATERIAL DETECTED — I stopped.
High-value.
Amelia grabbed me out of the air.
“No.” The idiot buzz escaped automatically.
She tightened her fingers gently around me.
“We are leaving.” The light pulsed again.
Something inside the room made a wet cracking sound.
Then— a heartbeat.
Slow.
Heavy.
Impossible.
THUMP.
Every insect in the corridor lowered itself.
As if bowing.
Amelia’s face lost all expression.
That frightened me more than panic would have.
She backed toward the stairs.
Carrying me.
THUMP.
The door opened another inch.
A dark shape moved behind it.
We ran.
Or, more accurately— Amelia ran.
I was forcibly transported.
For once, I did not object.
Whatever waited beneath Westbridge University— it was alive.
And it was waking up.