Scrunching his snout, moving through the claustrophobic vent on his knees and elbows, Freight did what he could to remain silent. It was bad enough to be trapped within the form fitting bitch-suit that clung tightly to his frame, but he felt sure that if the titanic rock golems, or whatever they were, found him, his life would get much, much worse. Awkwardly shuffling towards a vent, peeking through the cold, unfeeling slats, he angled his head to look into the adjoined room.

Sure enough, as he'd feared, one of the fearsome sentries loomed beside an archway. Where the door led to, be it deeper into the accursed maze or closer to the exit, he couldn't say - the only thing he was sure of was that he needed to get out of the place. As he knit his brow, praying the next vent would be in an unoccupied chamber, he wriggled his way onward through the small duct. If he was lucky, which he very much hoped he was, he'd be able to find the exit - that or some way to get the insufferable suit off.

Be darned if he knew what it was made of, or who constructed the thing, but frustrating would be a very kind way to describe his unwanted attire. Though it appeared to be fashioned of some sort of plushy fabric, the material was far too durable to be anything natural. No matter how much he struggled against its confines or rubbed against sharpened pebbles, the infernal outfit hadn't received so much as a blemish, let alone a hole! A string of silent expletives escaped him, while he inched closer towards the nearest source of light.