The Luminescent Depths

The rain had lessened to a persistent, mournful drizzle by the time Alexander’s tires crunched on the gravel drive. The factory loomed before him, a silhouette against a bruised, pre-dawn sky. It was larger than he’d imagined, a hulking, industrial beast of rust-streaked metal and grimy glass. Even in its desolation, there was an undeniable presence to it, a silent testament to the Moon name. The water lapped at the edges of the grounds, a dark, hungry tide, but the factory itself sat on a slight rise, defiant.

He killed the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the drip of water from the eaves and the distant, rhythmic pulse of something he couldn’t quite place. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and something metallic, ozone perhaps, or old oil. He’d expected a skeleton crew, a skeleton of a company, but there was no sign of life. No lights flickered in the cavernous windows, no vehicles sat in the vast, empty lot. It was as if the entire place had been abandoned overnight, a ghost of industry left to the encroaching flood.

Alexander grabbed his flashlight from the passenger seat, its beam a pale, wavering sword against the encroaching gloom. He pushed open the car door, the hinges groaning in protest. The gravel shifted under his boots as he walked towards the main entrance, a colossal set of double doors that looked like they hadn't been opened in years. They were chained and padlocked, the metal thick with rust. He circled the building, his flashlight beam dancing over blank walls and boarded-up windows. He found a smaller, service door, half-hidden by overgrown weeds. The lock was old, but surprisingly, it yielded with a jiggle of the handle. He’d brought a small set of tools, just in case.