Boomer awoke with a jolt to feel ice-cold restrains on his wrists and ankles.
When the disorientation finally fainted, he realized he was in some sort of chamber.
The walls closed in on him like a tomb.
He could barely breathe.
His breath vaporized in the air.
Giving a groan, he strained against the restrains, and they snapped under the pressure.
Boomer placed both hands on the fogged window in front of him, wiping away the mist. He saw another chamber in front of his, with someone's silhouette behind the glass. His eyes widened, and he whispered, "Nox."
With a burst of strength, he drove his knuckles into the chamber's door. The edges creased open, fissures of misty spraying out.
With another punch, the door banged open.
After blasting his way out of there, he leaped onto the floor, still feeling the chill in his bones. He shut his eyes, trying to get his bearings.
The chamber stood right in front of him.
Acting quickly, he grabbed both edges of it, grinding his teeth and pulling. The door pried open.
He flung it to the side, hunching over the cold ground and panting.
A familiar man with close cropped black hair was trapped inside.
Boomer's eyes widened. "Beecher." He snapped the restrains apart, grabbing Beecher before he could fall forward.
Beecher's skin was surrounded in ice, his skin paled beyond recognition. Boomer laid him carefully on the cold floor, stiff as stone. He uttered as many swear words as he knew under his breath.
He whipped his head around, searching for anything that could help him. A silhouette was propped against the wall, but too much ice encased it's body for him to make out who it was. A second body lay sprawled on the floor, a shard of Obsidian sitting before him, barely touched by the ice.
Boomer glanced up at the AC vents.
Shivering, he stood to his feet, his limbs stiff. He reached the control system, his eyes searching for a temperature gauge. He couldn't even feel the cold metal beneath his fingers, which had turned black and blue.
He found a meter that labeled a temperature of -80 degrees. He gradually raised the temperature to a warmer 85 degrees.
It took several minutes, but the ice in the small, confined room began to melt away into liquid. Beecher began to breathe again.
Boomer kneeled by his side, watching his red eyes blink languidly, the ice breaking away from them. When the frost cleared away, Boomer noticed he grew a stubble with hints of graying hair. But he didn't age.
Beecher was disoriented for a minute before his eyes locked with Boomer's, slightly squinting at the influx of light. The first thing he said was, "How the hell did you grow a beard?"
Boomer's hand went to his chin, where he felt the rough bristle of his blond beard. He noticed his hair was double it's length, reaching just past his shoulders and ending in curls. It was slick with water.
But facial hair was the last thing Boomer was worried about. "Where the fuck are we?"
A groan resounded from behind them.
The silhouette was bracing it's hands against the ground, the ice breaking away. Pieces still remained on his body and face, but Boomer could finally make out who it was.
The Wise One collapsed back onto the floor, feeling bile rise in his stomach. His eyes travelled to the Obsidian Shard before him.
Boomer swore, rising to his feet. He snatched the Obsidian Shard, keeping it as far away from him as he could. His eyes raked the room, searching for a window or door he could throw it out of.
He found an iron door embedded into the wall, it's gaps still filled with ice. There was on time to wait for it to melt.
Bringing his foot up, he drove his boot into the door. It slightly creaked under the impact. He tried again, and the ice began to shatter.
Bracing himself, Boomer backed up a few feet, then rammed his shoulder into the door.
It burst from it's hinges under the impact.
Not wasting another second, he hurled the Obsidian Shard as far into the dark hallway as he could until it vanished into the shadows.
He picked up the fallen door and fit it back into place to keep any reminiscences of it out.
The Wise One slowly regained his strength until he could rise to his knees. He ground his teeth and shut his eyes against the pressure all around him.
Movement shifted in the corner.
Boomer and Beecher whipped their heads around to see a familiar figure with gray hair and specks, chained to a pipe of frost. Ice began to break away from his skin like an egg shell.
Boomer dragged his feet across the room, kneeling in front of the doctor. He grabbed the cuffs and snapped them apart with little strength.
Romanov looked down at his scarred hands, his breath vaporizing in the air. His glasses her fogged over as he glanced up at Boomer.
Boomer pointed to the control system. "Think you can figure out where the hell we are?"
It took Romanov a moment to decipher his words, but he gave a dull, emotionless nod, shakily rising to his feet.
While Romanov worked on the system, Boomer and Beecher surrounded The Wise One as he slowly recovered.
"Anyone remember what happened?" Beecher inquired, his voice edgier than usual, gruffer.
"Yeah," Boomer breathed, pieces of recollections running through his mind. "The General locked us in here. If I remember correctly, I think I saw his superiors come in, and lock him in here too."
Beecher's eyes narrowed as he took this information in, and they scanned the room. "Then where is everybody?"
"No, no," Romanov mumbled, his eyes raking the system. "This can't be right…"
"Something wrong, crackpot?" Boomer said.
Romanov leaned back from the computer screen, his brow furrowed in confusion. "The computer's data and information sets are dated wrongly."
"Huh?"
Romanov sighed. "This little doo-hickey," He pointed at the computer's screen, where the date showed. "Says that we're 250 years in the future."
"2315?" Beecher echoed. "That—That's not possible."
"It's very possible," The Wise One rasped, his eyes slightly set aglow. "All this time we've been trapped in ice, but I've been fully aware of the changing days. All the passing years I spent having to deal with sitting in a room and no strength at all."
Beecher's eyes widened. "You've been trapped in a room with Obsidian for 2250 years? How the hell are you—?"
"My blood is immortal, remember?"
"Well, we've got bigger things to worry about now," Boomer ground his teeth, missing the usual presence of his shotgun. "Over two hundred years have passed since the Three Elders took control over the earth. What the hell happened during those 250 years? And where the hell is the rest of the team?" His mind travelled to Nox, and worries clouded his thoughts.
"We've been separated from the other Descendants many years ago," The Wise One answered for him. "I remember those same mortals came back and moved the other chambers somewhere else."
Beecher's blood boiled. "And you didn't stop them?!"
"May I remind you," The Wise One spoke between his teeth, "who's been suffering in pain for three hundred years!"
"May I remind you," Beecher spat back, "That Mankind has already fallen three hundred years ago!"
"ENOUGH!" Romanov shouted, his voice ringing through the room. Immediately, everybody shut their mouths and stared at Romanov with new eyes. Nobody's seen him raise his voice from the feeble level he always used.
Romanov took a sharp breath, frost crystalizing on his mustache, barely noticeable on the white strands of hair. "Who woke up first?"
Boomer opened his mouth, trying to find words through the shock. "I—I did."
"Do you know how?"
Boomer frowned. "No. All I remember is waking up inside the chamber, and I woke everyone else up."
Romanov's eyes scanned the computer again. "Well, there doesn't seem to be a malfunction in the system. But Boomer's ice has melted using the system's waking regulations."
"Meaning…?"
Romanov shut his eyes, regaining his patience. He locked glares with Boomer again. "Somebody unlocked your chamber. But whoever did it, is gone now."
"Can you find our location?"
Romanov turned back to the computer, hitting several buttons. "California."
"Well look at that, we've still got one of our states," Beecher spat sarcastically.
Romanov shook his head again. "Not according to the recent laws. There are no more state names. There are no more countries. Everything on Earth is… united."
"Think it's the Three Elders' doing?" Boomer guessed.
"I do not have a doubt." The Wise One sighed, then rose to his feet. "Let's get out of here."
The team made their way to the busted door, and Boomer slightly creaked it open. It collided to the floor with a loud THUD.
The Wise One felt bile rise in his throat. He backed away from the open doorway, putting a hand over his mouth as if there were a bad stench in the air.
Something clicked in Boomer's mind. He dragged his hand down his face. "The Obsidian Shard! Hang on, I'll get it out of here."
Boomer and the team walked outside to see a raging blizzard. Boomer closed his hand over the Obsidian Shard, then hurled it as far away into the mist as he could.
The Wise One followed close behind, feeling the effects ebbing away.
Boomer turned his head to the gray skies, which looked so familiar, yet so foreign from the one he was used to living under. He turned back to Romanov. "Where did you say our location was, again?"
"Colorado," Romanov repeated. "Or at least, it used to be. We're only one state away from the base… if it's still there."
"Then there's no time to waste," Beecher's eyes scanned the breadth of the abandoned facility's exterior, seeing a garage overhead. "Let's find some supplies and get out of here while we still can."
Shivering, they made their way to the garage, finding the door locked.
Beecher grimaced. "If Etrius were here, we wouldn't have these problems."
"Well I'm here, so let's make the best we can." He rammed his shoulder against the garage door, forcing it to flip open. He left a dent in it's exterior.
Boomer ground his teeth, feeling the ache in his shoulder. "I used to do that without effort."
"You've been asleep in ice for over two centuries, Descendant," The Wise One spoke up, his hair wafting in cadence to the blizzard wind. "You're all still recovering. Give yourselves time."
"Time I something we don't have." Beecher pushed past the flipped garage door, making his way inside. "And don't call us Descendants."
The entire room was coated in a thick layer of dust, cobwebs making home in every corner. The team walked inside, the cold still presence through the walls, but this was like reprieve from the harsh winter outside.
A Humvee sat in the center of the garage, and pistols lined the walls. Boomer armed himself with two, one in each pocket, and supplied himself with as much ammo as he could carry. He tossed another two to Beecher.
Beecher handed Romanov a pistol.
Romanov's brow furrowed, and he stared at Beecher with confusion.
"You're part of this team too, crackpot. It's time you learned how to fire a gun."
Romanov's eyes widened behind his glasses. "I've never held a gun in my life. You expect me to shoot someone?"
"If you're not prepared, someone will shoot you first."
Grimacing, Romanov took the gun with shaking hands. Beecher pocketed his own weapon and began to train him in clicking the safety switch, aiming and pulling the trigger.
The Wise One watched Boomer as he leaped into the Humvee over the side door, leaning under the dashboard to hotwire the truck.
The sound of cracking gunfire made him jolt. His head thumped against the dashboard. He swore, then sprang up and glared at Beecher, who was teaching Romanov how to fire. "Think you can keep it down? We need to keep a low profile."
"Sure." Beecher answered quickly, yet absentmindedly.
Boomer grumbled, resuming to hotwire the car. "Anyone got a lighter?"
At the mention of a lighter, Beecher immediately stopped his training session, searching his pockets. He produced a cigarette lighter out of his backpocket. "Right here."
Boomer held out his hand, his head concealed by the dashboard. "I need it."
"Wait, let me find a smoke." Beecher searched his pockets for the usual presence of his cigarette pack.
"Beecher! Cigarettes won't work after three hundred years!"
Beecher rolled his eyes. "Like a lighter will work."
"Just give it here."
Grumbling, Beecher tossed the lighter into Boomer's hand, then continued his training session.
While Boomer worked through the wires, The Wise One spoke up. "Do you four always argue like that?"
"It's not arguing." Boomer retorted.
"It's called teamwork." Beecher added.
"Rough teamwork, if I may say so myself." Romanov harrumphed.
"Hand me a screwdriver." Boomer held out his hand again to someone.
The Wise One acted first before anyone could remark, placing a nearby screw driver in his hand.
Boomer peaked out of the dashboard with confusion. "Aren't you an Ancient?"
"Yes."
"And Ancients use screw drivers." Boomer said with a tone of doubt.
"No. I just saw a mental picture in your mind."
"Don't read my mind." Boomer gave each wire one last look before he rose from his position. He jammed the screw driver into the ignition, giving it a clean twist. The Humvee shuddered, then roared to life. Boomer gave a smirk. "Let's go."
He started up the Humvee's computer system, entering their base's coordinates.
The Wise One entered the car after Beecher and Romanov with uncertainty. "How is this going to help us?"
Boomer gave him a confused look before he remembered that technology didn't come from the Wise One's time. "You'll see."
He stomped the gas, speeding the Humvee out into the blizzard.