Everywhere there was a stench; close to the taste in your mouth before throwing up, but not quite there. “Give it time,” I remember thinking. It didn’t help that there was hardly any natural light. And the humidity; everywhere I stepped my boots sloshed. I was walking around the tunnels with Mark.

“Over here,” he started rambling something closer to a hum.

“Hey! Mate! over here.” he repeated.

I turned. He was trying a sewer door. It was a square with rounded corners, the kind that you see in old 50’s submarine movies. We tried pushing the circular handle together.

“It’s giving!” I shouted.

Mark stopped trying. I fell over onto the ground.

“It’s not giving man,” he said quietly.

“What the hell was the idea with that?” I shouted.

“Idea with what?”

“With just stopping like that? I fell over man. I’m covered in what I _hope_ is shit and not something worse. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have such hopes?”

He let out a laugh. It echoed in the tunnels. I started laughing too. I wiped something off me; it was probably industrial slime. Maybe worse; maybe better.

“Let’s get back.” I said between laughs.

“Wanna give the door another try?” Mark asked.

“We’ll come back tomorrow; take care of it then. I’ll bring a baseball bat.”

“What for?”

“To kick your ass with if you stop without warning me. And to use for leverage on the handle. Figure it’ll give like that.”