2

Why was it that bad premonitions were always right?

After finding the collapsed room, further exploration finally led me to a large gate and a facility-wide directory.

Among the information I painstakingly deciphered was the phrase “60 meters underground.”

Even someone not particularly bright like me could figure out what that meant.

At least I now knew that beyond this large, thick, sturdy-looking gate there was an elevator. This erased my fear—at least for now—that there might be no exit at all.

As long as it wasn’t “sealed shut to destroy evidence,” I should be fine.

The immediate problem: the gate wouldn’t budge.

Pushing, pulling, lifting—it was no use.

In other words, the elevator to the exit was right in front of me, but the power to move the gate was out. That was what needed fixing first.

The situation was starting to feel more and more like a horror game, and I let out a sigh—

“Gofuu.”

I wondered, “Could I breathe some kind of breath attack?” and gave it a try, only to cough from the effort… what was I even doing?

Pointless failures aside, I finally had a lead on escaping.

With a goal in mind, my motivation surged—time to find the gate’s control room.

Even without detailed information, if I could just get the power back on, I should be able to operate the gate.

…Looking back now, I want to punch my past self for being so optimistic.

I assumed the control room would be close to the gate.

It wasn’t.

And I’d underestimated the difficulty of searching a human-sized facility with this oversized body.

Also, I really needed a light.

I found rooms that seemed related, but nothing that actually controlled the gate.

Thinking about it, this was obviously a “military facility.”

For security reasons, it was entirely possible the gate could only be operated from outside.

But before even considering that, I realized there was a bigger problem.

(…None of the machines here have power, do they?)

In fact, it seemed highly likely—almost certain—that power from the generator facility had been cut.

I stood—no, loomed—alone in the cold, pitch-dark space in front of the gate.

I thought hard about what to do.

I remembered the room where I’d woken up.

For some reason, that room alone still had power.

I won’t speculate too much on what that implies, but given that I was the only survivor, it’s hard not to imagine things.

In any case, I thought, “If I could somehow route that power here…” but quickly abandoned the idea.

I wasn’t an engineer or a saboteur—just a freshly conscripted, talentless rookie.

I had neither the knowledge nor the skills, so it was no surprise I discarded the plan.

And even if I had tools, these huge, clumsy hands would make using them near impossible.

Besides, even if the power situation was resolved, I wasn’t sure I could operate the gate now.

I assumed there’d be one or two emergency measures in place, but considering how close the empire had been to collapse, I doubted they’d had the resources. And even if they did, why would a non-facility member like me be able to use them?

That left me with one option—brute force.

I planted myself before the gate, took aim, and swung.

My fist slammed toward the gate… or so I thought. The door didn’t dent, scratch, or budge.

Maybe I’d held back too much to avoid injuring myself? I shook out my slightly numb hand and took a deep breath.

(Next one full power… it’ll hurt, but whatever.)

I stared at the unlit ceiling for a moment to steel myself.

Drawing back my right leg, I clenched my fist, lowered my hips, pulled back my arm, and took a stance I’d only ever seen in videos.

Then—SUGON! The sound of a massive rock slamming into iron echoed.

The result: I clutched my right arm and writhed in pain, while the gate remained untouched.

A complete defeat.

It seemed the gate was specially reinforced; I had to admit my fists couldn’t break it.

But if fists failed, I still had my legs.

Kicks were said to be about three times as strong as punches. As a “muscle-specialized monster,” this was my trump card—used far sooner than I’d hoped.

I shook out my hand until the pain subsided, took a deep breath, and went for attempt number three.

In my head I shouted, “Hoataa!” but what came out was a filthy roar—“Gogboaa!”

A deeper, louder impact rang out than before.

The result? Nothing.

If anything, my leg hurt so much I fell over, crying out “gaaa” in pain.

I’d expected at least a crack or something.

All I managed was the faintest dent—so small you had to touch it to notice.

Not unscathed, but far from damaged.

For a moment, I considered that if I kept going, I’d eventually break through… but I wasn’t so stupid or optimistic as to miss the fact that my leg would give out first.

At that moment, I remembered the other test subjects who’d died trapped in their rooms.

The thought of death loomed over me, and I roared.

(No! Not like this! Not here! I won’t die! I refuse to die!)

My wordless bellow echoed aimlessly, and I lost all composure, pounding and kicking the gate without restraint.

The pain in my limbs only worsened, but I didn’t stop.

When I’d exhausted myself, the gate was still unchanged.

Reality tapped me on the shoulder, whispering “You can’t get out.”

And suddenly—the fear ebbed away.

As if something had been lifted from me, I stood there, staring blankly at the gate.

When I tried to mutter “What is this?” I realized something.

(Emotion… no, fear suppression!)

Of course—fear wasn’t useful in combat, so removing it made sense.

The fear suppression I’d felt earlier in the dark corridor seemed more plausible now.

Maybe there were two functions: one triggered by certain conditions, and another that acted like a switch to suppress emotions.

In any case, regaining my composure was a blessing.

Now I realized the truth—this reinforced body still wouldn’t win in a head-on clash. I should have expected the gate was designed to withstand my specs.

If a monster like me went on a rampage, the damage would be unimaginable. Of course they’d have built in containment measures.

Normally, I’d have realized that immediately… maybe there were downsides like lowered intelligence.

Either way, a frontal assault wouldn’t work. If I didn’t change tactics, I’d starve here.

(Head-on doesn’t work. The gate is the only exit… except maybe a vent, but I’d never fit.)

Then it clicked—(I don’t have to go through the gate. I just have to get to the other side.)

I stared at the gate.

Thick, solid, and immune to my full power.

On the other side was the elevator to the surface.

So—

A booming crash echoed underground.

Each time, chunks of rock fell to the ground.

If the gate was impossible, I’d just go around it—by digging a hole to the other side.

With this body’s strength, breaking the outer wall was easy.

At first I tried breaking through right beside the gate, but it was wider than I’d thought, so I ended up breaking into the rock face.

It was tough going, but still far more realistic than destroying the gate.

When fists and kicks weren’t enough, I scavenged metal parts to use as wedges, driving them into the rock and prying out chunks again and again.

By the time I was about halfway through, my limbs were going numb.

I crawled out of the tunnel, brushed off the dust, and gulped in air.

Who knew how long I’d been digging?

I had no idea, and I wasn’t going back to check the time—not that I remembered the way back.

Once I’d rested, I resumed chiseling… and hit dirt.

(Ah… maybe if I’d picked a different spot, this would’ve been easier.)

Too late for regrets.

I dug through the remaining section quickly, smashed the outer wall beside the gate, and squeezed my huge body through.

Beyond was another pitch-dark space.

I explored briefly—still no power anywhere, no machines responding.

In what looked like a guard station, I found bottles of liquor, but I didn’t dare drink them.

Finding canned goods made me realize I hadn’t felt much hunger—but also reminded me of a problem.

(What am I going to do for food?)

Any rations here would be centuries past edible.

I wondered if this body could handle it, but no thanks.

(I’ll think about food after I’m outside.)

I followed the wide, dark corridor to an elevator slightly bigger than standard—big enough for me to fit.

(Sixty meters, huh…)

With no power, I’d have to climb on my own.

Forcing the doors open, I felt warm air brush against me.

It wasn’t sealed—I could feel the connection to the outside.

The car was up above. I’d have to climb the cables, then either punch through the floor or lift it to open the doors.

I could also climb the wall like a rock face, adjusting as needed.

But then I saw a ladder.

Too small for me, but my toes could catch on the rungs—better than nothing.

Using the ladder, the elevator cables, and protrusions in the wall, I climbed steadily.

Being big meant plenty of handholds, and I could reach without fully extending.

It almost felt too easy… until I reached the car’s underside and had to choose.

(Break it or lift it?)

Dropping it was an option, but I couldn’t even get on top.

I tried lifting it onto my back—it moved easily enough.

The strain wasn’t bad, but the exit seemed to be on the other side, so I climbed down and repositioned.

Centering myself under the doors, I lifted again, creating a gap wide enough to slide in an arm and pry at the doors.

(Yes, I can do this!)

I wedged my fingers in and pushed.

A sliver of light seeped through.

But just then, the ladder rung I was standing on gave way.

Two centuries of decay? Or maybe I was just too heavy. Probably both—and the strain from lifting the car didn’t help.

One foot dangling, the elevator’s weight crushed my fingers in the gap.

“Gaa!”

I yelled, “That hurts!”

I yanked myself up by the cable, relieving the pressure, then threw caution aside—rocking, lifting, forcing the doors.

I shoved my fingers deeper, ignoring the weight pressing down on my back, jammed an arm through, and grabbed the floor beyond.

My other hand gripped the door.

I hauled myself up, pushing the doors apart little by little, wedging both arms through.

Once both arms were in, it was only a matter of time.

I spread them wide, forcing the doors, and pulled myself through.

Light filtered through a small collapse in the ceiling, with plants spilling down and covering nearly half the room.

(Ah… once I’m through here, I’m outside.)

I never thought I’d be moved by something like this, but my chest felt tight—even if no tears came.

After wrestling with the car and doors for a while, I finally squeezed through, wriggling like a caterpillar, just as the car dropped.

A thunderous crash echoed.

In a movie, there’d be fire, but I just stared down for a while—nothing.

Then I sprawled out, limbs spread wide.

Physically exhausted, and mentally at my limit.

(What I need now is information. I need to sort things out—I have so little. And for that…)

I looked up at the crack in the ceiling where the light came through.

I’d made it to the surface.

Just a little further to the outside world.