The wet, heavy breathing in the tunnel didn't sound like a fan or a corrupted audio file. It sounded like a wet bellows, rhythmic and rank with the smell of old copper and stagnant water.
"Movement! Three o'clock!" the girl with the crossbow yelled.
I scrambled backward, my heels digging into the cold, damp earth. It was my first time feeling dirt—the grit beneath my fingernails, the way it clung to my damp hoodie. It was disgusting. It was terrifyingly real.
"Get up, Over-Coder!" the girl hissed, grabbing the collar of my jacket and hauling me to my feet. "If you stay on the ground, the Crawler will have your marrow before you can blink!"
From the darkness emerged a nightmare that no programmer would ever design. It was a mass of pale, translucent flesh, shaped vaguely like a wolf but
