Paradise Lost
Chapter 7: Operator
Previously:
Nikita took a deep breath and looked over at him, her eyes wide, open- scared. "Michael," she said, taking another steadying breath, "There's something I need to tell you. I-"
Out of nowhere, a car came speeding out of a line of trees and smashed into the side of Michael and Nikita's Kia, sending it flying off the road, flipping over and over as it tumbled down a steep hill- and crashed into a tree with a bone-breaking crunch. The dust settled. The engine caught fire. A glorious streak of crimson flame licked the side of the tree, catching immediately and the liquid heat spreading and emitting thick black columns of smoke.
The car that had hit them- an unscathed muscle truck with metal bars on the front- was perched at the top of the hill. The doors banged open, and Division agents poured out of the vehicle, armed to the teeth.
They beelined towards the flaming wreckage, scanning for survivors.
If there were any.
….
The elevator screeched to a halt. That was never a good sign- especially not in Division, where the only way in- and out- happened to be through the same elevator Alex was stuck in at that very moment.
She jammed the button several times, but nothing happened. She cursed under her breath and was about to pull out her phone when the elevator jerked to a start, suddenly moving downwards again. But the elevator passed the floors rapidly, skipping the main floor of Division that Alex had pressed the button for.
"Hey!" she exclaimed, hitting all of the buttons, but none of them would light up. The elevator stopped in the basement, and the doors opened with a polite ding.
"On the other side of the metal doors stood Amanda, Sean, and several Division guards, holding guns trained on her.
"Hello Alex," Amanda said, a smirk curling across her face.
Alex flattened against the side of the elevator by the buttons. She tried desperately to close the metal doors. One of the Division guards entered the elevator and she knocked the gun away with a swift chop, twisting his arm and flipping him over. She whirled around, landing a kick in the other guard's chest.
She heard the lethal click of a gun. She froze, and looked down the barrel of a gun Sean was pointing at her.
Alex's glare could cut through stone. "You," she snarled.
He looked away, unable to hold her gaze.
"I'm surprised, Alex. I thought you wanted to find Semak."
"Whatever Sean told you is a lie!" Alex yelled, but it was no use. The Division guards dragged her down a hallway, into a holding cell with floor to ceiling cement and no windows or light source other than the small, reinforced glass square at the very top of the door.
"Traitor!" She yelled back at Sean. The Division guards threw her into the room and slammed the door shut, the locks shifting into place. Alex ran to the window. Was that a look of guilt in Sean's face? Good. He deserves to suffer, Alex thought, turning back to the dimly lit cell. He had sentenced her to die here, and no one could save her. With a strangled cry, Alex kicked at the metal cot, pain immediately shooting up her foot and she crumpled to the floor, her eyes stinging. I'm going to die here.
….
The thick, grainy smoke billowed into the car.
Michael coughed, regaining consciousness quickly as he realized the immediate danger. The car was upside-down, and his seatbelt was keeping him suspended. He unbuckled it, and fell to the ceiling. In the driver's seat, Nikita lay limp.
"Nikita!" he called out gruffly, coughing on the smoke. He shook her, trying to wake her up, but she didn't move. He unbuckled her. "Come on, Nikita, wake up!" he urged, but she remained unconscious. He kicked out the door, and pulled her out, her body as lifeless as a ragdoll. He scooped her into his arms, his eyes burning from the smoke and the panic of the possibility of losing her. He struggled to his feet in the grass, and in front of him stood a dozen armed Division agents, weapons trained on him.
He'd pictured this scene many times in his head: him and Nikita, cornered, no way out, the enemy on all sides. This seemed like the inevitable end for them: going out in a hail of bullets, breathing their last breaths together, sharing that last goodbye. Their final moments, they would be together. But this wasn't fair. He wouldn't be able to say his goodbye to her now. He couldn't tell her how much she meant to him, how she changed him. Saved him.
So he held her tighter, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his lips to her forehead. Then, he raised his eyes to the squadron of agents in front of him. He wasn't ready to die- but who really is? He took a deep breath, and steeled himself for his end.
One of the agents raised his gun.
And fired.
Michael slumped to his knees, still holding onto Nikita. But the pain wasn't what he had expected- it was sharp, centralized. And why was his vision swimming like this? He managed to look down, and he saw a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his shoulder.
This was worse than an actual bullet.
What awaited them- that was worse than death.
And he still would not get his goodbye.
…
Birkhoff stared at the computer. This wasn't working. He had tried every algorithm in his big book of hacker tips to copy the black box. But it just wasn't possible. This was not going to work, not in thirty hours.
"God, Nikki, why do you always have the whole world after you?" he asked to the open air.
"She's the one who asked for it," a voice said.
Birkhoff whirled around in his chair. Great. Another unexpected visitor with a gun. He looked like one of those hotshot Division agents: pressed suit, lethal stance, stoic expression.
But then this man did something strange. He holstered his weapon. Birkhoff narrowed his eyes. These people were more dangerous when they were trying to make friends.
"Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?" Birkhoff demanded.
"I'm Sean. And I need to talk to Nikita and Michael right now," he said.
Birkhoff crossed his arms. "Do I look like an operator to you?"
Sean just smirked. "I know how to take down Percy."
"Let me get them on the line."