What harm could a forgotten copier machine do?

Perhaps waste all its ink; the paper falling out of the holder as blank copy after blank copy were spat out. How foolish one would feel being responsible for such a blunder. Or perhaps one would be angry at the machine for printing a million useless copies.

But this story is not about an unfortunate office worker, it’s about the world inside the machine, and of clumsy creators, and the broken parts.

***

Biochemical nanomachines hum-buzzed like a swarm of fireflies, gently illuminating the cold, damp cavern.

There a jet-black raptor tippytoed up to the watering hole, its head moved side to side and scanned its surroundings.

A hunter hid behind a grove of mud pillars, listening intently and holding their breath. Tentatively the raptor bent down and scooped up water with its toothy jaws. At the sound of dripping water the hunter sprung into action. They dashed across the cave and decapitated the raptor before it could react.

In silence the hunter sliced up their prey, sealing its bloody flesh with a glowing hot rod and stuffing the best cuts in a black bag. The thighs were cut at the ends and tied together to hang off the side of the hunter’s backpack. Most of the carcass was left for the other creatures of the labyrinth to dispose of. There’s only so much one person can carry and use before it spoils. Satisfied with their work the hunter turned to the pond to refill their water supplies.

The hunter touched the cool water and took a moment to study their reflection. Dark hair framed their scared sunken features. The skeletal face was that of Lyner. A lost soul in the middle of their life just surviving in the labyrinth with the goal of reaching the surface. A goal that was impossibly far away. Not that the possibility of success mattered to someone as driven and singularly focused as Lyner.

Lyner counted the seconds, breathed in and out, relaxed their jaw and rolled their shoulders. It had taken longer than they would have liked for game to come around. Some meat would do good to fill out Lyner's withering frame.

The water mirror was broken by gentle ripples in the pond. The hunter looked around and when they found nothing of note produced a small electronic cup and listened through it against the ground and walls of the cavern.

There were sounds of crackling rocks and a growing rumble. Laying sideways from the ground Lyner could see growing dark markings around the edge of the pond indicating rapid loss of water.

Like too thin ice on a lake the ground gave out beneath Lyner’s feet. The hunter fell surrounded by mudd and water glistening in the florescent light of the fireflies.

Lyner grabbed at the harness around their waist and a rope with a metallic snake head at the end dove out to the rescue. The hook-shot caught on the remains of the pillars that had aided in hiding the hunter just minutes earlier.

With a grunt Lyner pulled the rope back to propel themselves forward towards a solid wall. The pillar fell behind them, the snake retracted back into its holster at the press of a button.

With a wince the hunter slammed against a dirt wall, their battered and bruised arms taking Lyner's weight as they clawed to hold on.

The wall was shaking violently as the collapse grew in intensity. Lyner needed to find shelter or be buried by the oncoming onslaught of debris, or worse the whole structure would come down on them.

The hunter slid down the wall with support from their hook-shot. Going down went against their goal of finding a way out of this hellhole but there was no time.

Lyner spotted an opening of pipes and metal gleaming in stark contrast to the ashen dirt. Lyner was sure that the pipes went deep enough and would be able to hold, or rather it would have to work as Lyner saw no better alternatives.

As the hunter gripped onto a rock ledge it broke free from the wall and threw Lyner off balance. With a sharp intake of air Lyner once again was saved by their hook shot but it could not save them from the stalactite crashing into their head.

With a silent cry Lyner swung and rolled into the cramp maintenance shaft surrounded by metal pipes reaching out into the chasm with jagged fingers. It was dark and stinking with biogas. The world shrunk in on Lyner as they could not focus on anything through the pain, their glove soaked in the blood gushing from their head.

Lyner's eyes watered. The pain spread through their body. It felt like hundreds of needles were probing at their skull, creating hundreds of little black spots. Somewhere in their mind the hunter still knew they had to continue into the shaft so Lyner blindly crawled through into the gaping darkness, dry heaving and gagging on the pain. Not that there was anything that would come out.

Somewhere behind them the hunter could make out the screams of the victims of the growing sinkhole. Debris made an awful orchestra of blaring precisions against the pipes.

Lyner laid down and rested against the tubes, an uncomfortable wetness running down their face.

Hungry, hurt and sleep deprived, Lyner reached for their backpack and used the last of their energy to quickly wrap some cloth around their wound. The last thing they remembered before slipping into oblivion was the vile scent of rot and a choir of deathly wailing.