The trip back to Torres' room was no less torturous then the last. Again Artemus felt his heart pound in his chest as, with each step, he slowly stepped back into perhaps one of the most dangerous performances of his career. This audience was cruel and evil. One mistake would be the end of his act...and probably his life.
He stood in his spot, ashen faced and stiff, the lifeless expression only half fabricated. Artie felt truly drained. He was on his last leg, and he knew it. With every once of his remaining strength, Artemus fired his theatrical spirit. He had to keep going.
Torres was once again pouring over the knowledge stored in the shelves of books in his small, but extensive, library. He seemed to have trouble turning the pages, due to his stiff, steel-plated hands, but years of practice helped him successfully accomplish the task with only minor complication.
He turned, taking in his henchman and his returning prisoner at a glance. Again, Artie felt as if the assassin's cold eyes pierced right through him. It made his mind snap to the treachery he had just committed against this monster. It sent a shutter through him. If Torres ever found out...or already knew...
"Ah, Mr. Gordon," Torres said courteously, as if greeting an old friend. "I assume you have finished your task in the time that I gave you." It was a question, not a statement.
"I have finished," Artie replied, tonelessly.
"Good." Torres closed the large, musty volume he had been reading with a deep thud and a light cloud of dust. He placed it back in its place on the shelf. "Very good indeed." He then turned to Lopez, giving a nod. "You may go and fetch Mr. West."
Lopez turned and left, leaving Torres and an increasingly uncomfortable Artemus. Torres turned to some papers on his table, completely ignoring Artie's presents. It made sense. After all, Artemus was supposed to be a mindless minion, and there was no point in talking to him when there was nothing to talk about.
Something bothered Artie though; something that started as a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. It needled and prodded him, until he finally realized, standing in the assassin's upper room, what it was. Torres wasn't questioning him. He wasn't checking to see if Artie had done what he said he had, or even whether Artemus was still hypnotized. It seemed odd. Not that Artie wanted to be jabbed with the needle once more. It just didn't sit right.
For a terrible moment, Artemus believed Torres might already know what he had done; knew he was faking. The assassin might have sent Lopez to go check on the rockets! Then he and Jim were as good as dead!
Calm down, Artemus, Artie though to himself, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He can't know. He would have addressed the issue by now. He would have revealed his knowledge about my deception to me. It wasn't much to go on, but Artie felt he was right. At least, he hoped he was right. So what was keeping Torres from suspecting him? What was keeping him from stabbing that metal prod into his prisoner again?
Artie thought for a long moment. Then it hit him. He's prideful! Artie nearly let a smile slip onto his face. Torres is so sure that his plan is perfect, so sure that his hypnosis is flawless, and so sure that he can't be defeated that he's slipping! The thought was comforting, and, in a way, extremely enlightening. Torres, though partially machine, was still a human...and humans made mistakes.
Artie's thoughts, as well as Torres' studies, were abruptly interrupted when Lopez suddenly burst back into the room. His face was a mixture of anger and fear. "Mr. Torres! Mr. West has escaped!"
If Torres felt any emotion, he didn't show it in his posture or facial expression, but his eyes...those terrible eyes flashed a fire that made Artemus want to back out of the chamber. He nodded slowly, uttering only a slow, threatening command.
"Find him."
Well, at least Artie was sure now that Lopez hadn't been checking on the rockets...
...
The tunnel was far more rocky than the well-cut passageways beneath the Alto Palace. Its walls were crude, cut into the living stone haphazardly, causing the sides to be sharp, bulging and uneven. The lighting was practically non-existent; dim and weak to say the least. The ground was dirt; dark, wet soil. Thankfully, it was more level than what might have been expected.
James West ran headlong through the twisting passage, hoping to find an exit at any moment to the world above. Jim pulled Nina Gilbert along by her hand. She stumbled and tripped after him, trying her best to keep up with his nearly frantic pace. "Ah, Mr. West," she huffed as the traveled, trying to steady herself before she could fall. Jim continued, either ignoring her, or too wrapped up in their escape to comprehend her words.
Normally, West was a very calm, cool and collected man. He hardly ever hurried or rushed, unless the situation called for otherwise.
This was one of those times.
Jim knew, though Artie was a fantastic actor, that his partner wouldn't be able to keep up the act for long. The image of his friend chained beside him, weak and bleeding, urged West to escape and aid Artie before it was too late. Torres had stabbed Artemus with a needle when Artie was a 'friend'; Jim couldn't imagine what the assassin would do to an enemy.
Jim and Miss Gilbert raced along the tunnel, turning and stopping abruptly as it came to a sudden end. The passage opened out into a circular cavern; small, but obviously used more often then the rest of the maze. A large, foaming pool of dark water yawned before them.
Jim's eyes swept over the scene before him, a feeling of dread beginning to knot in his stomach. "Dead end," he muttered, searching for an alternative route. His eyes widened as the last voice he wanted to hear broke the silence.
"A most appropriate comment, Mr. West."
The voice was without body, coming from somewhere where the speaker was out of sight, but very close. Emotionless and strangely mechanic, it could only belong to one man: Torres, the Steel Assassin.
Suddenly, a thick, white fog began to be pumped into the chamber. West momentarily noticed the hidden piping in the walls from which it flowed, before he started to cough. It surrounded them, billowing out and filling the chamber from floor to ceiling. It was odorless, but it was heavy, like a very humid day, making the air feel as though it contained barely just enough oxygen to support life. Jim's lungs began to burn, as he coughed harder, trying to expel the mist from his chest. He placed an arm across his mouth and nose in a vain attempt to protect himself.
Beside him, Miss Gilbert coughed lightly, not nearly as close to the source as Jim himself was, but still close enough to be affected by the foul substance. Her face filled with confusion as her vision began to swim and breathing became harder. She lay a hand faintly to her forehead, staggering backward, before she collapsed limply to the ground.
Jim saw her fall, but was too preoccupied with his own labored breath and spinning mind to be of any help to her. He tried to steady himself against the stone cave wall, but that proved to be futile as well. West slowly sank to his knees as the overpowering gas choked consciousness from him. He toppled over as he lost the battle to stay awake, his last though reverberating in his dizzy brain.
This is very bad...
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Short chapter, I know, but I wanted to keep writing even while in college. I wrote most of this while eating lunch a school, with a sandwich in one hand and a pen in the other. ;)
