Ch.48: Acid Rain

I climb.

The catwalks are narrow, metal grates suspended above the maze of pipes. The air up here is hotter, filled with the hum of machinery.

Below me, the bucket sits in front of the intake fan. The acid is eating through the latex glove. A ticking time bomb made of kitchen science.

But that’s just the distraction. That’s for the guards in the tunnels.

Aris isn't in the tunnels. He’s in the lab. Or the main house.

I need something bigger. Something that reaches everywhere.

I reach the main junction box for the fire suppression system. It’s a massive red tank connected to a network of pipes that run through the entire ceiling of the sub-basement and the lab above.

The sprinkler system.

Currently, it’s filled with water.

But there is a maintenance hatch on the top of the tank. For adding antifreeze or rust inhibitors.

I unscrew the cap. It’s heavy, rusted tight, but adrenaline gives me the strength to wrench it open.

I look around. I need chemicals.

The catwalk runs past a storage shelf.

**INDUSTRIAL CLEANER. CONCENTRATED.**
**LYE.**
**PEROXIDE.**

I grab the jugs. I drag them to the tank.

I pour.

Gallons of caustic, corrosive fluid splash into the water supply. I empty everything I can find.

I’m not making a bomb. I’m making acid rain.

But the sprinklers are heat-activated. The glass bulbs in the heads have to reach 155 degrees Fahrenheit to shatter and release the flow.

I can't light a fire up here. The alarms would trigger the Halon system again, and I’d suffocate before the water fell.

I need to trick the sensor.

I need a spark. A hot, focused point of heat right on the main valve's trigger wire.

I look at the junction box on the wall. High voltage.

I pry the cover off. The wires are thick, insulated. I can't strip them with my bare hands.

I need a tool.

I feel the weight in my stomach. The diamond ring.

It’s been hours. The water I drank, the adrenaline, the physical exertion...

My stomach cramps. A sharp, twisting pain.

I double over, clutching the railing.

It’s moving.

I stumble to the corner of the catwalk. I squat over the metal grate.

It isn't dignified. It isn't heroic. It is visceral and messy and humiliating.

But when it’s done, I sift through the filth.

I find it.

My wedding ring.

It is warm. Coated in bile. But the diamond... the diamond is clean.

I wipe it on my gown.

I hold it up to the dim emergency light. The marquise cut is sharp. A razor made of carbon.

I go back to the wires.

I use the point of the diamond. I saw at the insulation.

It cuts. It slices through the rubber like butter.

I expose the copper.

Now I need to bridge the connection. I need to short the circuit directly onto the heat sensor wire.

I use the ring itself.

I place the platinum band across the two exposed wires.

*ZZZT.*

A spark. Bright blue. Hot.

It hits the sensor wire.

The wire glows red. Then white.

The heat travels down the line. It hits the main valve actuator.

*CLICK.*

The solenoid trips.

The pressure in the pipes changes. I feel the shudder run through the metal grating under my feet.

The system is armed. The valves are open.

But the sprinkler heads are still sealed. They still need heat to burst.

Unless...

I look at the pressure gauge on the tank.

**120 PSI.**

If I spike the pressure... if I override the regulator... the bulbs will shatter from the force alone.

I find the pressure valve. I grab the wheel.

I turn it.

**150 PSI.**

**180 PSI.**

The pipes groan. They vibrate.

Below me, in the chemical room, the acid finally eats through the glove.

It drops into the bleach.

*WHOOSH.*

A cloud of chlorine gas erupts into the intake fan. The turbine catches it, shredding the vapor and blasting it into the tunnels.

The screams start instantly.

"Gas! Gas in the tunnels!"

I hear boots running. Guards retreating.

But they have nowhere to go. The blast doors are sealed.

Now for the upstairs.

I turn the wheel one last time.

**250 PSI.**

The needle buries itself in the red.

*CRACK.*

Above me, in the lab, a sprinkler head bursts.

Then another. And another.

A chain reaction.

I hear it. A hissing roar as the liquid is forced out of the ceiling.

It isn't a gentle shower. It is a deluge.

And it isn't water.

It is a toxic soup of lye, peroxide, and industrial cleaner.

I look down through the grate.

The liquid hits the concrete floor below and *fizzes*.

It didn't rain water. It rained bleach.