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The only thing more bleak and miserable than the abandoned moon of Assurance is my looming quota. The Company‘s demand for scrap is as insatiable as the Eyeless Dogs that ripped my friends apart back on Vow. Or was it March? Watching some horror movie monster devour my coworkers has become a bad habit, and I’m losing track. That’s why I’m on Assurance alone. No team leader to guide me by walkie-talkie from the safety of the ship. No innocent meatbag to leave behind as a sacrifice to a Bunker Spider or whatever else I might encounter. Today in Lethal Company there’s just me and the monsters.
The Bees and the Base
In their latest cruel joke, the gods saw fit to flood the Martian terrain of Assurance, so now in addition to being alone and terrified, I’m soaking wet. My company-issued hazard suit is supposed to keep everything out, but apparently, it has an open-door policy for stinking bog water. A buzzing sound behind the rocks ahead draws my attention. Only one thing buzzes like that: Circuit Bees. As I drag myself out of the water and mount the ridge I spot their hive. It’s sitting between me and the moonbase towards which I’m heading. I circle wide around the hive but not wide enough.
The stinging, stabbing cloud descends on me. I sprint toward the base, throwing myself through its doors at the last second. Everything’s cold and gray inside. An industrial fan hums above. The only other sound is my own steps on the metal floor. The moonbase’s interior is familiar, but that just makes it worse. Two days ago, one of my coworkers got distracted laughing at his own dumb joke, and something pulled him screaming into the darkness. The week before that we lost three people to a Jester. I open a door and start down the catwalk, trying to tune out the memories of “Pop Goes the Weasel,” echoing through alien corridors. I hate my job.
The Quest for the Fancy Lamp
The catwalks lead to narrow steel staircases. The staircases lead to dead ends. I fumble my way down brick corridors cloaked in shadow, jumping at the hiss of a busted steam vent. There’s no scrap anywhere, not so much as a hairdryer or plastic fish. I must meet quota. It’s the only thing that matters in Lethal Company, but I can’t find anything of value. My bad luck ends when I open the next door. It’s a coffin-shaped room. Two concrete walkways run down the sides, separated from one another by a bridge over a bottomless pit. It’s there, on the other side of the void, the first scrap I’ve seen all day. A fancy lamp. A few dollars closer to quota.
Before I can celebrate, I hear something with too many legs scrabbling down the corridor behind me. A Bunker Spider. They’re slow, but I have no friends and no weapons. I want to get paid, but I also really, really don’t want to become the main course in a spider buffet. I flat-out refuse to be digested. But still, there’s that fancy lamp. Eight hairy legs scratch their way closer, and I do the only thing I can think of. I jump on the railing and then jump atop a rickety storage container just as the Bunker Spider erupts from the hallway. It crawls to the edge of the container and then stops. I don’t think it can climb, but it doesn’t need to. It knows I have to come down eventually.
My Terrible Split-Second Decision in Lethal Company
I want that lamp. Meeting quota for the Company is the only thing that matters. There’s a door on the far side of the room, behind the fancy lamp. If I can somehow escape the Bunker Spider, the lamp is mine. I’ll then be navigating uncharted, potentially spider-infested hallways with my hands full of scrap, but that’s a problem for Future Me. Fueled by a combination of greed and panic, I do the only thing I can think of. I jump over the spider. I hear the scraping sound as it turns around, but I’m already sprinting away. In an instant, I’m over the bridge, 10 yards or so from the fancy lamp.
It’s at that moment that I spot the Turret. I was so focused on the Bunker Spider that I didn’t see the trap, and now I’m standing directly behind the swiveling machine gun. If I go backward, the spider will eat me. If I go forward, I’ll be shot. If I step to the side, I’ll plummet into the abyss, and there won’t even be a body to sell back to the Company. I’ve thrown my life away for a 94-Credit lamp and have only myself to blame. The spider’s getting closer, so I do the only thing I can. The moment the Turret swivels away, I make a break for the lamp. It’s almost in my fingers when the Turret swivels back. Gunshots ring out, and I collapse inches from my prize. I die here, but the Company will bring me back. I still have a quota, after all.
