The Hanging Spark

A beaded brass pull-chain dangled right above the scarred workbench like a glittering metal vine. Ha! A hanging fuse waiting for a tug! I scrambled up the tiered steel trays of the open tackle box, knife held tight in my teeth, and launched myself into the gloom. My claws clamped around the cold little spheres with a savage yank—*CLICK-CLACK!* A bare incandescent bulb overhead flared into blinding yellow life, humming with instant heat. *Snicker!* I swung in a wild arc over the clutter, blade glinting in the sudden glare while brass washers and bolts gleamed like spilled gold below. That lit up my whole underground fortress in one pull!