The remains of the last bronze guard scattered across the metal floor. Silence descended upon the hall, a silence broken only by the sound of my own ragged breathing. I looked at 404; a new wound was seeping his grey fluid, but he stood as steady as if he hadn't just fought a battle moments ago.

  "Combat efficiency at 88%," he said with his usual coolness, answering the question I hadn't spoken.

  I sighed. We advanced cautiously through the ruined plaza and reached its end, where two massive, adjacent doors stood. The first was engraved with a complex metallic "gear" symbol. The second had a faint red "flame" symbol, and I could feel a slight heat emanating from it.

  "A crossroads..." I muttered. "Hey, 404, what do you sense?"

  "The corridor behind the flame door is emitting high thermal readings. The corridor behind the gear door contains a large number of small metallic signatures. Currently, they are in a dormant state."

  I thought for a moment. Immense heat sounded like certain death. Dormant machines seemed much safer. We were in a machine-manufacturing facility, so it was logical that the "gear" path would be the main route.

  "We're going left," I said with confidence. "The gear path. It's the logical choice."

  404 opened the heavy door, and we entered.

  It was a long, narrow corridor, different from all the stone passages we had seen. Its walls, floor, and ceiling were made of a dark, cold metal. Thick pipes ran along the walls, some of them leaking a viscous, dark fluid that dripped slowly onto the floor with a monotonous sound. "Drip... drip... drip...". The air here was stagnant, carrying the smell of old metal and burnt oil.

  "Do you sense anything?" I whispered, my footsteps sounding disturbingly loud on the metal floor.

  "The metallic signatures are still dormant," 404 replied.

  We continued walking. The corridor seemed endless, and the only light came from faint red light strips embedded in the floor, casting long, eerie shadows. I felt a strange anxiety, a feeling that we were walking through the bowels of a sleeping metal beast.

  After what felt like an eternity, the corridor finally opened into a massive, dark chamber. It was larger than any plaza I had seen, and filled with towering heaps of scrap and shattered machinery. The silence here was absolute; even the sound of the dripping fluid had stopped.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Looks like just a scrap graveyard," I said with relief, taking my first cautious step into the room. "See? Nothing here. The logical choice was the right one."

  At that moment, I heard a metallic scratching sound. A spider-like creature made of rusty blades leaped from the nearest scrap pile. It rushed toward us, but 404 caught it in mid-air and calmly crushed it in his fist.

  CRACK!

  The echo of the crush resounded in the vast chamber. It was like a starting signal.

  From all the scrap heaps, the "dormant metallic signatures" began to awaken. Hundreds, then thousands of red-lensed eyes lit up in the darkness. The "Scrap Pests" emerged from their hiding places, their only desire to tear apart the "organic contamination" that had entered their territory. The buzzing sound of their metallic bodies rubbing together was deafening.

  I realized the catastrophic scale of my mistake.

  "I've been a fool!" I screamed, my voice trembling with terror. "Carry me! Back! Now!"

  There was no time to argue. 404 grabbed me, turned, and began to run like a war machine back down the corridor. The swarm of Scrap Pests was chasing us, a sharp, metallic wave flowing behind us.

  As the world blurred around me in hazy lines, I should have been terrified, and I was. But beneath the layer of fear, a strange and vital feeling sprouted. It was happiness. A sharp, pure happiness, born from the womb of immediate danger. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't running from my past or my shame; I was running from a real, tangible death.

  At the last second, we burst out of the gear corridor, and the door slammed shut behind us. We found ourselves once again at the crossroads, panting, as we heard the sound of the angry swarm banging on the door from the other side.

  I looked at the flame door, the only path left.

  "Well..." I said, trying to catch my breath. "It seems we're taking the illogical path this time."

  [From the Files of the Explorer: Dream - Log #04 (Revised Version)]

  Entity: Scrap Pest

  Origin: Automaton Type (per Murim classification): The Flood Rank (per Murim classification): Rank 1 - Larva General Description and Behavior: Small, spider-like automatons that appear to be haphazardly assembled from scrap metal and rusty blades. In their dormant state, they blend almost perfectly with the scrap heaps, making them extremely difficult to detect. These creatures act as a single hive mind. Their primary drive is to protect their territory from any "organic contamination." Upon sensing the presence of a living being, or when one of their units is destroyed, the entire swarm awakens and launches an all-out assault. They do not fight with intelligence but rush forward like a sharp, metallic flood with a single goal: to tear the intruder apart. Known Abilities:

  

  
• Swarm Attack: Their overwhelming strength lies in their massive numbers.


  
• Dormancy and Ambush: Their ability to hide makes them a perfect trap.


  
• Sharp Limbs: Their very bodies are weapons capable of cutting and tearing.