The Fungal Highway was less of a road and more of a suggestion made by nature to see how many ankles it could break.
It was a suspended bridge formed entirely from the tangled, petrified roots of the massive trees that held up the ceiling of Floor 4. It wound through the bioluminescent darkness, hovering over an abyss that smelled of wet earth and ancient decay. To the left and right, giant shelf mushrooms glowed with a toxic neon-blue light, casting long, shivering shadows that seemed to reach for the party as they passed.
Reed trudged forward, the servos of the Weed Whacker Mk 1 whining in protest. The exo-harness felt heavier now. The initial adrenaline of the breach had faded, replaced by the grim reality of hauling three hundred pounds of magitech machinery through a sauna.
