Francesco Mazzotta - Cellular Activity

The heavy and wet air floats in the room like an old and bored ghost. The stench of fuel and engine oil joins that of sweat, a sick alchemy tasting like an old dusty workshop. Dirty and bony hands strongly grasp a big wrench, the knuckles whiten to further tighten a valve. A flickering fluorescent tube lights up the scene, drawing irregular sharp shadows.

A rough voice, made by years of cheap cigarettes, comes up from beneath a huge machine. Give it a try now, Jay!

On the other side of the plant, a stocky man, with his overalls smeared with dirt, stops working on a long welding and puts the electrode and his protective dark mask down on the counter. He pulls off his gloves and heads to a control panel. Ready here! Tell me when I have to open it!

Go ahead, but very slowly. Get ready to close everything.

The man presses a few buttons, then he opens a big red valve, keeping an eye on the needle of the pressure gauge that gradually starts raising. More?

The answer comes after a few moments, interspersed with a bad coughing. Just a little bit, take it to one point two Carefully Carefully I said! Wait! Damn, wait!

The sound of an air puff, followed by a series of expletives in a Texas accent, briefly covers the hum of the machinery.

The small figure of Mark Miller comes out crawling from the intricacy of pipes that he is working on. His bony and pale face is mottled by a splash of dark grease. He quickly reaches the other side of the room, where Jay Young is putting his gloves on again to go on with his welding. It was slightly below one, he exclaims, noticing the upset expression of the other.

Miller wipes his face with a cloth, then he throws it on the table, remaining thoughtful and drumming his fingers for some moment. The valve has been mounted incorrectly. Some idiot has forced it even though it was not properly aligned, ruining its thread. Ill try to put another seal but if it doesnt work I am afraid that we have to change the whole damn block.

Jesus I hope not, it would be a real pain in the ass. Okay lets hurry, Redmond will raise hell if we stay one more day without a backup generator. Just give me a minute to finish the welding on this panel and Ill give you a hand.

Where are the one-inch O-rings? Millers voice sounds hoarse, while rummaging in some old and grease-stained cardboard boxes.

Mmm I dont think youll find any more left in there. Anyway, Im sure there should be another entire pack in stock.

Miller starts up muttering. After walking about ten meters he is hit by the voice of his colleague: Mark, since youre going up there, take a look at the main generator. I heard strange creaks last night.

The footsteps of the maintenance team technician echo through the silent corridors. A multitude of different diameter pipes runs along the ceiling. Fluorescent tubes regularly light up the space with their cold and impassible light.

Young goes on with the welding. As his electrode touches the shiny surface, a cascade of sparks breaks out like fireworks, flashing with a vivid bluish light. A long glowing strip is slowly drawn on the metal sheet.

The job takes about fifteen minutes of careful work, then the man puts his protective screen aside again, and presses a button with one foot in order to switch off the welding machine. He awaits for a while, then carefully checks the welding he just completed, finding just a slight imperfection. The man grabs a hammer and skillfully removes small smudges of charred rutile. Hey Mark, what do you think about that mess up there?

No reply.

Young moves to the other side of the generator, unwinding the wire of a grinder. The place where Miller was working is empty.

Not back, yet

The man puts his eye protection mask on and connects the tool to a power outlet. A pressure on the safety switch activates the rotating disk, which produces a loud noise.

He turns around, approaching the welding to be polished but at that moment the lights go out completely.

What the fuck, bursts Young, snorting bothered in total darkness. He moves groping to put the grinder down on the slab, moving carefully to avoid tripping over the wires. The abrasive wheel is still rotating by inertia, and the man has to wait a few moments for it to stop altogether. After taking care of the grinder, Young gropes for a drawer, searching inside for a flashlight.

Where the hell is it

A noise, a few meters behind him, similar to the cracking of the ankle of someone trying and walking stealthily, makes him jerk.

Mark, Im here, careful not to step on me.

After a few moments of oppressive darkness, a slender cone of light emerges in the obscurity. A thick atmospheric dust swirls nervously. Young taps a few times his flashlight, hoping the dim light is due to a slight misalignment of the batteries inside, however, the brightness doesnt seem to improve. He turns annoyed, exploring the room and expecting to find his colleague somewhere around, but there is no one with him. Puzzled, he leaves the room by swinging the torch right and left.

The place is empty.

Annoyed by that almost surreal situation, he walks down the hall, going to the main generator.

That silence, so muffled and sudden, in addition to the pitch-black darkness all around, makes the place even more gloomy and claustrophobic.

Miller, where are you?

As if in answer to his question, a heavy thud coming from the upper floors shakes the walls. The tremors last a long time and seem to cross his body, echoing in its inner cavities.

What the hell are they doing up there?

Miller! Hey Miller!

Still no reply. Young tries to eavesdrop on signals, but all he can hear is his own breathing. The man walks on along the path leading to the generator room when, somewhere far behind him, he perceives the sound of something metallic falling to the ground.

He instinctively turns, pointing his flashlight.

There is nothing. The corridor is completely empty and fades into darkness after a few meters ahead.

Dont get yourself scared by this shit, man

Taking a quicker step Young reaches the main generator room, pausing at the open door. He is about to cross the threshold when a rustle to his left catches his attention. The man turns around, raising the torch. The ray barely lights up a figure.

What the hell

Hey you!

Young takes a step forward, pointing the light to a man dressed in a bio-hazard protective suit. Its dirty with grime and his face is hidden by a black gas mask.

Im talking to you! You cant stay here!

In response, the stranger slowly backs away a few steps, then turns away, swallowed up by the darkness.

Jesus

Hey, where are you going? Did you hear me?

Young walks a few more meters, but there is no trace of the mysterious appearance. Not a word, not a noise. The technician hesitates for a moment, undecided what to do. Then, somewhere between puzzled and frightened, he steps back to the door of the generator room and enters it. He heads immediately for the control console, his movements fastened by his concerns. The beam of his flashlight illuminates something that leaves him speechless. The main panel appears twisted and deformed, almost melted by the effect of a powerful corrosive. The half-destroyed panel is half covered with a yellowish stuff that drips on the sides in long filaments.

What the hell is this shit?

A few moments go by, while Young checks the damage and the machines functionality.

Miller, if this is some kind of a joke, be warned: Im not enjoying it at all!

No one answers to Youngs words. The man stoops beneath the now useless console and starts tinkering with a number of other buttons and switches, still intact.