Lower Levels Corridor Alcove

A narrow service corridor recessed into the stairwell’s curve provides the briefest of shelters. The alcove’s walls press close, its stone flags cold beneath Mel and Ace’s sliding bodies as they collide with unseen rubbish bags. The air hangs dense with the damp and metallic reek of frozen pipes, the sound of dripping water echoing too clearly inside their confines. A distant, wet footfall splashes in the corridor beyond, the zombie’s snuffling breath audible as it sniffs the corner where their scent lingers. Their own ragged breaths mix with the stale chill of the ventilation system, each inhale tasting of old lubricant and condensation layered over the metallic tang of their improvised explosives. Shadows coil at their feet, the alcove’s single flickering bulb casting no comfort, only sharpening the knife-edge of their pinned position.