The ground floor is so hot it’s nearly impossible to breathe, but we sprint around the green lake towards the massive gate keeping the beasts locked away. When we reach it, a cool wind gusts through the bars, and I realize that the regular blasts of fresh air prevent any of the gas from entering this tunnel.

“John, I really don’t think there’s any time left,” Sam pleads.

“I know,” I say, letting a group of ten or so Mogs exit ahead of us.

We enter a dark tunnel. The walls look mucus covered, and barred chambers line each side of the shaft. Down the middle of the ceiling ten huge industrial fans blow, all pointed towards the entry we just came through, keeping the air cool and moist. Some of the locked chambers are small, though others are large, and bursting out of them all are feral and ferocious sounds. In the cage on our left are twenty to thirty krauls jumping over one another while letting loose shrill yips. Imprisoned on our right is a pack of demonic-looking dogs the size of wolves, with yellow eyes and no hair. Beside them stands a creature that looks like a troll, complete with a wart-covered nose. In a larger cell across the way a massive piken not unlike the one who busted through the prison wall that morning paces back and forth, sniffing the air.

“We might as well not even bother with these smaller rooms,” I say. “If my Chest is here, it’ll be in the biggest room at the end of this tunnel. I don’t even want to take a guess at what kind of beast needs a door that large to fit through.”

“We’re down to seconds, John.”

“We better hurry then,” I say, pulling Sam forward while quickly taking in the different horrors corralled here: gargoylelike winged creatures, monsters with six arms and red skin, several more pikens standing twenty feet tall, a wide reptilian mutant with trident-shaped horns, a monster with skin so transparent that its internal organs are on display.

“Whoa,” I say, stopping at a group of rounded tanks and vessels, most of which are silver, though two are copper colored and lined with heat gauges. Some kind of boiler room, I guess.

“So that’s what’s keeping this place going,” Sam says.

“This has to be it,” I reply. The tallest silo goes to the ceiling, and every tank is connected with heavy pipes, spouts, and aluminum ducts. Beside the silo, a control panel is affixed to the wall with a heap of electrical wires pouring out.

“Come on,” Sam says, impatiently jerking my hand.

Together we run the rest of the way to the tunnel’s end. There’s a massive door, forty to fifty feet tall and wide, made entirely of steel. To its right is a small wooden door. It’s unlocked, and instantly I see why.