The door slid open with a hiss, but if Maria thought she'd find Namur arming himself or trying to steal weaponry, she'd quickly realize she was wrong.

There were voices up ahead.

"...second left after the anti-aircraft loadouts. There's a door marked for janitorial staff. You'll have to pull up the grate."

"An' yer sure I'mma fit in this shit?" Namur's voice, a little louder than he'd intended.

He was answered by silence. Then the crackled voice replied, "You'll make it work, mate. We'll lose contact once you're in. You know what to do."

"Got it."

Namur dropped the radio on the ground and sprinted for the door, using Maria's gunblade to pry it open. He had to chuck a bunch of cleaning shit out to uncover the grate (which was, he noted, a hell of a lot larger than most grates needed to be), but he pried that up with the blade of the sword, too. Useful things, these. No wonder Maria was so obsessed with them.

There was a room below, with a drain for the inevitable spills from above, and a wide, winding corridor that lead downward. Namur jumped in without hesitation, thundering onward.

Another voice, mechanical, neither male nor female, seeming like it emanated from the walls itself.

"Someone is coming."