pyestock | recce

I followed Tom through the doorway and stepped into an area of total darkness. Standing still, I unhitched my rucksack and rummaged for a torch. Its beam lit up the chamber, picking out the huge pipe above me, its shell punctured with pneumatic and electrical sensors. Wiring snaked and stretched all over the underside of this behemoth, like the spread of a plastic fungus, twisting and turning before terminating in various dials, switches and fuse connections. The opposite wall was covered in jutting metal struts, further switchgear, and the endless mesh of multicoloured wiring. No wonder Tom had walked into something.

I was pleased to be safely ensconced underground. Any quick look into the building above by security, alerted by Tom’s shouts, would now yield nothing. Here we were relatively safe from discovery and if any courageous security guard ventured underground then we’d hear them and take measures e.g. either hide or move on, hoping these tunnels and chambers would eventually emerge elsewhere. Our nerves were still high as we no idea of security’s remit: were they patrolling and if spotted, would they follow us into the buildings? It was all a big unknown and hiding in the darkened depths was definitely preferable to something totally exposed.