High atop the mountainous ranges of Botshevik Isle, the trio of prospective jail-breakers awoke to the sound of their synchronised alarms beeping fiercely. Mark was the first to rise, wiping away the filmy layer of gunk from his eyes as he sat up in his sleeping bag. The snowstorm that had been pinning them down for the past two days seemed to have subsided, as he could only see the occasional shadow of a piece of snow flying past his thermal tent.

"About fucking time…" he muttered under his breath, which still came out in a swirl of white mist. As the cold began to claw at his exposed face, Mark threw off the covers and got to his feet, jogging on the spot to get the blood circulating.

He looked around at the contents of his little square of safety, protected from the harsh elements outside. Six Poké Balls lined the belt strap of a complicated-looking harness propped up next to his bed, placed alongside a neatly-coiled mass of synthetic rope. Across the tent, lying in shadow in the far opposite corner, was a small collection of power tools, each one with its own specific purpose for the mission ahead.

Plodding over to pick up a portable power saw, Mark gave it – along with every other tool – a thorough inspection, checking and double-checking that they all functioned properly in the dismal conditions. He couldn't afford to have a single one fail while the mission was underway.

The loud crash of steel on steel alerted Mark that Emily had stumbled out of her own sleeping bag, and was performing her own checks. He suppressed a grunting laugh; her wide array of skills far exceeded his, but she always was a bit of a ditz right after waking up.

"Son of a bitch!" she shouted, a loud, metallic clunk sounding from her tent as if on cue.

This time, Mark couldn't hold back his laughter. "You alright in there, Emi?" he called out, beginning to clip the various tools into the harness that held his Poké Balls. Her words, despite being lobbed at him in an indignant shriek, were drowned out by an unexpected howl of wind; Mark could hazard a guess at what they were, though.

As he finished suiting up and stepped outside into the frozen cliff-top, he found himself already greeted by his captain, whose green coils of hair were just peeking out from the shelter of his parka. The two exchanged stern glances for what felt like a long time, eyes boring into each other's, until Emily threw open the door to her tent and stomped out to join them, arms cradling her tool-laden torso.

"The weather's certainly not looking too bad today," she commented, doing a full rotation on the spot to take in the bleak landscape. "Does that mean…?"

The captain nodded, taking a Poké Ball from his belt. "That's right. It's time to begin the mission."

Mark scrunched up his face, resting a hand on his hip. "And here I was, hoping that the blizzard would've lasted another fifty years," he sighed sarcastically. "A little while longer and you probably would've come crawling into my tent for a bit of human company," he added to Emily with a wheezy laugh, and he earned himself one of the filthiest looks his teammate could muster, accompanied by a swift and rude hand gesture.

"Alright, calm down, you two," barked the captain, his murky green eyes flashing dangerously.

Mark and Emily both fell still and silent at once, not willing to risk provoking him at a time like the present. "Sorry, sir," muttered Mark, casting his eyes down to his superior's feet.

"That's better," he grunted, placing the Poké Ball on the ground next to him. "Time for the final rehearsal. Emily, run us through the first stage," he instructed.

"Of course, sir," she replied with a nod, taking a step forward before turning to face both of her male companions. "From our position here on the cliff-face—" she dug her heel into the snow-packed ground, leaving a sizeable dent, "we descend onto the tundra, with Shane's Abomasnow using Mist to provide cover," she explained, eyes darting to the Poké Ball at her captain's feet. "Provided everything works according to plan, we should traverse the 1137-metre drop and touch down at ground level within fifty-three seconds."

Shane nodded slowly through her words, cradling his chin between thumb and forefinger. "Make it an even minute; if we move too quickly, we run the risk of falling out of cover and alerting the guards. Mark, next step."

"We charge the tundra and take out the guards on isolation duty," Mark recited dully, looking distinctly bored. "We split up; Emily picks off the guards monitoring the five towers, you head up to the roof to blast through with explosives for a diversion, and I mosey on up to the front door and knock it down."

"Which is the structurally weakest point in the prison," added Emily, and her teammates scoffed at the irony of the fact.

"Apparently, the authorities in charge of Chernaya Tochka think that anybody brave enough to try a prison breakout would also be savvy enough to know not to try and walk through the gate," Mark added drily.

"Their stupidity aside, it's not going to be a cakewalk once we get into the prison itself," Shane retorted, folding his arms. "We know where our escapees are being held. Once the front door has been breached, you two regroup and storm through to the holding cell, while I… coerce the warden to open the cell door. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" they chorused, snapping to attention.

"Alright!" said Shane loudly, clapping his gloved hands together. He leant down and snatched up his Poké Ball, taking another from his belt and tossing the pair onto the snow in front of him. The two balls split open with a muted flash, and the white light that spilled out of them rapidly formed into two formidable-looking Pokémon.

At first glance, one of the two looked like a disembodied collection of green spikes, and a large pair of lavender-coloured eyes; the pure white hairs that covered the Pokémon's body camouflaged it against the landscape so well that it seemed mostly invisible. A mass of white twitched just below those piercing eyes, though, and a huge, crescent-shaped mouth suddenly appeared out of nowhere, the tree-trunk-like tail at its feet thrashing against the ground.

Its partner could not have been more of a contrast, and could not have stood out against its frozen backdrop more if it tried. Standing as tall as its Trainer, but half the size of the Pokémon next to it, the new arrival was a hodgepodge of rust-red and grey iron. Two glimmering, orange eyes hid underneath a prominent forehead framed by two horizontal horns, its flat face sticking out at the front of a teardrop-shaped torso. Six round nodules were the only hint of a mouth the Pokémon possessed, held off the ground by legs ending in four sturdy-looking claws, whose four toes jutted out at right-angles to each other.

"Hyyyeh…!" it hissed, its dull body suddenly glowing red-hot, and steam rose from the space around its feet.

"Send out your Pokémon," Shane ordered, walking to stand between his Abomasnow and Heatran.

Mark eyed the softly hissing Steel-type with apprehension, taking an involuntary step backwards when the Pokémon's maw suddenly split open to reveal a cavernous emptiness, lit deep orange. He briefly wondered what reason his captain had for bringing a Pokémon so at odds with the environment to the mission.

Emily, on the other hand, had little reservations about Shane's choice of Pokémon, and casually opened her own Poké Ball. The Pokémon that clambered out of the ball was just as gruesome in its appearance as Shane's Heatran, and just as arachnoid in its appearance. Its entire carapace was encased in solid blue armour, but the heavy cross splashed vividly across its face was coloured lacklustre silver, as were the claws tipping each spindly leg. As if to complete its intimidating aura, its small red eyes seemed to flash for the briefest of moment, like a computer rebooting.

"Lookin' good, Meggy!" cooed Emily, jumping up onto the Metagross' back as though it was second nature to her.

"And, of course, the best is saved for last," Mark jeered, snatching a Poké Ball from his belt and hurling it skywards. "Come on out, Rhyperior!"

With an earthshaking thud, his Rhyperior burst free from its ball in a flash and thudded onto the mountaintop. Utterly dwarfing its Trainer, the Drill Pokémon towered even over its fellows, pointing its spired drill proudly towards the heavens. Its brownish body was ringed and dotted with raised orange plates, giving its stocky build the appearance of a military tank, but the illusion was quickly dispelled as its long tail swung around, the beach-ball-sized club at the end scraping over the snow. Clicking its tongue, Rhyperior raised a massive arm, forcing its Trainer to duck away and avoid its bladed elbow, and picked at its jagged teeth with blunt fingers.

"Are you both ready?" Shane asked, already sitting astride Heatran.

"Ready," replied Emily, hands splayed over Metagross' smooth top.

"Ready," Mark grunted, hanging onto Rhyperior's back.

A fierce smile crept onto Shane's face as he raised a hand and strapped a pair of hi-tech goggles over his eyes. Tapping Heatran's steel forehead, he positioned himself and Abomasnow a few feet from the cliff-face, peering fearlessly down the impossibly sheer drop to the tundra below. Chernaya Tochka stood resolutely in the centre of the plain, its cold, high walls standing out against the snow as if daring them to try and break it.

Leoric leapt to his feet, a loud click at the apartment door startling him out of his senses and almost spilling the glassful of water in his hand all over the couch. He darted towards the door as the handle slowly turned, reaching instinctively for his belt, fingers already clasped around a Poké Ball.

His concern was short-lived, though, when the door swung open with a soft creak, revealing a thoroughly-soaked Ash and Pikachu standing in the doorway. Leoric arched an eyebrow at his friend's dishevelled appearance, quickly relinquishing his hold on the Poké Ball as he did so.

"Ash…" he grunted, as the damp duo trudged into the lounge room. "Got lost in the rain?" he quipped.

"Something like that," Ash sighed, with a little shrug of his shoulders. He spotted Gin sitting on the couch that Leoric had just leapt up from, but he did a double-take when he saw the man leaning intently forward, hands clasped together in front of his mouth and eyes unblinking. "Gin?" he called out.

"Not now," Gin barked, only giving Ash the slightest sideways twitch of the head.

Ash blinked. "What's g—?"

"I said not now!" Gin roared, and the two boys jumped in fright. Ash opened his mouth to say something in retaliation, but his mind froze when his eyes finally followed Gin's to the television screen.

The 24-hour news channel was on, and a breaking story was being reported.

"—witnesses at this time," an attractive anchor-woman was saying. Ash moved closer to the television to get a better look, and unease swooped down into his stomach when he saw how visibly distressed she seemed; her hands were shaking as they held a piece of paper between them, and her expression seemed to imply that she was having trouble reading the words printed on it.

"Just—awful…" Gin whispered, brow furrowed as the live report continued.

Ash turned to Leoric, whose face was set in a similar manner to Gin's. "What's going on?" he asked, taking a nervous gulp of air.

Leoric licked his lips. "Some twisted bastard set a five-star restaurant on fire," he growled, folding his arms.

"What?" Ash yelped, head whipping between his roommates and the television set.

As though confirming Leoric's revelation, the screen flicked over to depict a horrific scene. An inferno was blazing into the black sky, seemingly unhindered by the cascading rain that pounded against the defiant flames. Fire-fighters lined the street facing the burning restaurant, accompanied by squadron upon squadron of Water-type Pokémon, all covered from head to toe in a thick layer of ash and soot. On their Trainers' orders, the Pokémon blasted great jets of water into the fire, but the fiery yellow wall seemed to spit the advances out just as fiercely.

A large crowd of bystanders stood beyond the defensive line of firemen, people of all ages milling together on one side of a fenced barrier. A string of men in police uniform jealously guarded the barrier, repulsing anyone who tried to cross the low fence. As the camera zoomed in on the scene, the three roommates collectively clenched their jaws when it focused on a well-dressed woman, looking to be in the throes of a nervous breakdown as she tried to claw past the officers.

"That's horrible…" Ash gasped, raising a hand to his mouth.

"I know, right?" said Leoric. "It only came on the news fifteen minutes ago. Apparently, that fire's been raging for close to an hour. Based on how ineffective the efforts to put it out have been, the authorities are saying that the arsonist used some Pokémon to ignite the place," he explained, reciting what he knew from the newscast.

"They used Pokémon to do this?" Ash snarled.

"Pii pika pika!" Pikachu growled, scowling furiously as yellow sparks flew off his cheeks.

"—officials and medical experts, hopes are not high that—any survivors will be found amongst the wreckage," the reporter continued, hands still trembling. "This is—Jeanne Girard; we'll continue to keep you updated with events throughout the night. Once more, our major headline – an arsonist has set fire to the prestigious Red Comet, a five-star dining establishment, with the evening's patrons still inside. In other news, a local mugger has been f—"

The newscast was abruptly stopped, the screen turning black.

Baring his teeth, Gin tossed the remote control back onto the wooden coffee table and swung his legs down onto the ground with a firm thump. He pushed himself upright in one swift motion, sweeping past the motionless youngsters and marching down the hallway, turning into his bedroom and slamming the door shut behind him. The loud noise made Ash, Leoric and Pikachu flinch, and they slowly turned to look at the closed door, anxious expressions adorning their faces.

"What do you think is up with Gin?" Ash wondered aloud, scratching his cheek with a finger.

Leoric ran a hand through his hair. "Who knows…" he muttered unhelpfully, before snapping his fingers together and rounding on Ash. "So hey, what were you doing out so late tonight?"

"Me?" Ash echoed, pointing to himself in confusion, certain that he must have misheard.

"Yeah, you!" pressed Leoric, gesticulating wildly. "As soon as you went and read that letter from the nurse in the Pokémon Center, you started acting funny, and you just disappeared! What was the letter about, huh?"

Ash thought of telling Leoric about the letter, and about the mysterious M woman who had never turned up, but something in the back of his head told him not to. "Sorry, that's kind of personal," he said instead, subconsciously tapping a finger against his jeans, where the letter rested in a pocket.

"Okay, fair enough," Leoric said. Ash could tell he looked a little disappointed at the lack of information, but he was relieved that his friend didn't try and push the envelope, as it were. "Well—" he opened his mouth wide and gave a lengthy, echoing yawn, "I'm beat. I think I'm going to catch some zees," he sighed, lifting a foot to scratch at the back of his other leg.

"Oh, right," Ash replied, and a wave of fatigue suddenly hit him as well. "I'll see you—in the morning…!" he said, stifling his own gaping yawn, and Leoric gave a lazy wave of the hand before plodding into his room.

"Shit. Looks like the bad weather's about to hit us again," said a tall, muscular man clad in white, turning to the identically-dressed man standing next to him.

The second man turned his dull green eyes towards a towering cliff-face near the eastern horizon, and spotted a heavy white mist pouring down from the peak. "Not that surprising, when you think about it," he countered, taking a hand off his firearm to slap his cohort across the forearm. "The weather's always terrible here. The clear patch we're having now was bound to end sooner or later, and you probably won't see it this good for another fortnight or so."

"I guess you're right…" grunted the first, kicking a heavy boot against the thickly padded snow beneath their feet. "Can't wait until the shift change, though. I swear… I'm about three degrees away from losing a ball to frostbite."

"You'd better hope you can hold onto it," chuckled the second, pulling his protective headwear a little tighter around his face as the penetrating mist drew closer and closer. "That fog is bearing down on us pretty quickly…"

"Yeah," the first muttered, latching onto his gun and pointing it at the approaching cloud. "A little too quickly for it to be completely natural… Petr, I th—!"

The guard's words were cut short, however, as a large stone, sharp as an arrowhead and large as a man's foot, flew out of the mist and cannoned straight into his face. The man was killed almost instantly, his final breath coming out in a mangled, gurgling cry as he fell limply to the ground.

"Romanov!" Petr howled, jumping backwards in horror as soon as he saw his comrade's fate. The prison's training regime kicking his brain into high gear, he swung his firearm around and opened fire on the murderous fog. Bullet after bullet tore through the frigid air as it was launched from the barrel, disappearing into the creeping white with a small puff, and Petr's eyes narrowed when he heard a muffled clang on the other side, like the sound of metal striking metal.

A high-pitched cackle echoed out from inside the mist as it surged relentlessly over the plain towards Petr, who felt a deathly chill strike his heart. He'd been trained to deal mercilessly to any intruders, but whoever it was that hid within the fog seemed to be making nothing but sport of him.

Unfortunately, the poor man was put out of his misery a moment later, as a monstrous conglomerate of blue steel and burning red launched itself out from the mist. Its claws outstretched, Petr's rifle was no match for its impenetrable body, ammunition bouncing harmlessly away.

Almost at once, the beast was upon him.

The last thing Petr saw clearly was his own blood being ripped from his flesh and splattered across the pure white snow, a trio of silver spikes slashing through his chest and splintering his ribcage in one telling blow. As he fell sideways to the ground and watched the world fade away, the faintest hint of a giggle reached his ears. He moved his glazed eyes towards the sky, and the shadowy outline of a slender woman with neon-blue hair graced his gaze before everything went violently black.

"Good boy," said Mark proudly, patting Rhyperior's flank as it raised an arm away from the beheaded guard, and the Ground-type gave a contended grunt at its bloody handiwork. A gentle swishing sound behind him signalled that Shane and his two Pokémon had finally caught up to his subordinates, and he adjusted himself on his perch atop Rhyperior.

"Keep moving!" Shane barked, recalling Abomasnow after the latter breathed one last spray of mist into the already cold air. Still far away, the prison's searchlights began to come to life, all swinging around to point towards the now-obscured spot where Petr and Romanov had been standing guard. "They're onto us!" he warned, and the trio stormed ahead over the frozen earth.

"I think it's time for us to split up!" shrieked Emily, and Metagross banked away to the left, making a beeline straight for the nearest guard tower. The guard on duty stood defiantly against the rampaging Steel-type, aiming the cold scope of his rifle instead towards its Trainer. "Magnet Rise!" she ordered, and the cross on Metagross' face shone a deep gold.

The sentry yelped in shock and anger as the rifle was torn from his grasp, pulled towards Emily by her Pokémon's amplified magnetism, and it smacked against the golden cross with a dull thud. Smirking, Emily gave her Pokémon a well-deserved pat on the head, her other hand snaking down to grab the rifle. On cue, Metagross stopped its technique, and the weapon slid cleanly off its face, for its Trainer to snatch up and hold expertly against her shoulder.

With almost cruel irony, she fired a round into the sentry's heart, killing the man with his own rifle, and he pitched forwards amidst a pool of blood. Emily, though, had already shifted her attention to the other towers, and began picking them off one by one.

As she provided timely cover, Shane directed his Heatran towards the prison's high stone walls, burning great holes of molten steel through the wrought-iron fences that stood in their path. The caltrops buried amongst the snow offered little resistance to the charge, either; the Fire-type simply reduced them to scrap metal under its powerful claws, or kicked them out of its way. As the duo pushed through the innermost fence, the guards ordered their Beartic forward to intercept them, a legion of huge teeth and dull eyes racing down the battlement-riddled walls and over the snow.

"Looks like we've got company," Shane laughed, stabbing his heel into Heatran's flank to spur it on more quickly.

The first pair of Ice-types threw themselves towards the intruders, forelegs spread wide and snarling fit to burst an eardrum, but their eyes shrank in shock as Heatran opened its craggy mouth wide and spewed a torrent of intense red flames. Caught in the air, the Beartic were instantly engulfed in the fire, howling and twisting in agony as they were cruelly burnt to death. Despite the fate of their fellows, the rest of the Beartic showed no signs of slowing down as they swarmed upon Shane and his Pokémon, who narrowed his eyes as a hand reached for his belt.

BANG! One of the colossal bears slumped to the ground as a bullet rammed through its skull. Shane smirked as he swung the small revolver in a gentle arc, scoring hit after direct hit as Beartic fell left and right, all adopting the same empty expression as pale blood trickled from the small wounds between their eyes. Not to be outdone, his dutiful Fire-type scorched the remaining opponents into oblivion with waves of unbearable flame, until every last Pokémon was lying dead on the ground, the snow painted red and black.

"That was even easier than I thought," Shane remarked with a cruel laugh. He holstered his gun as the wall loomed just a few feet away, and he gave a piercing whistle as he tapped Heatran's protruding forehead. With a low hiss, the Fire-type clamped its forelegs against the wall and began to climb, small chunks of granite tumbling down to earth as its claws dug into the hardened stone. The clatter of gunfire followed them as they went, bright sparks bursting into life all around as the guards aimed high and opened fire, but not a round struck home, and within moments Shane had disappeared through a gap in the battlements.

"Don't let them get away!" shouted one of the guards, hurling something small and round after the captain.

Meanwhile, Mark and his Rhyperior advanced towards Chernaya Tochka's imposing front door. While Mark squinted against the bright glare of the searchlights focused on him, the cold sting of wind blasting his face, the gargantuan Rock-type beneath him was laying utter waste to all that came before it. Neither man nor Pokémon was safe from Rhyperior's colossal arms as it swept them aside with brutal swipes, and the ones fortunate enough to avoid being sent rocketing into the cold metal gate were summarily mown down by a barrage of sharp stones.

"There!" Mark yelled amidst the groans and roars of his enemies, pointing to a quartet of guards that was readying some sort of special net.

Rhyperior gave a bellow that sent tremors through the earth and caused even the foundations of the prison to shake. The guards struggled to keep their footing amongst the quake, and the ground below the Ground-type splintered, cracks skewing across the snow in all directions, golden light pouring out from below. Mark bared his teeth in savage satisfaction when the light illuminated the guards' faces, seeing the white of their eyes as a hideous crack filled the sharp air.

The ground simply caved away around them, and the guards flailed wildly as the earth swallowed them whole and silenced their mortified screams.

"So long, losers!" Mark shouted tauntingly, but a spray of gunfire forced him to duck down behind Rhyperior's shoulders. The Drill Pokémon's thick, plated armour deflected all but the most direct hits, and those managed only to chip away the slightest fragment from its exterior.

Its dull eyes sparking with grave intensity, Rhyperior hit the guards with a vicious counterattack, hurling a molten rock the size of a small house straight towards them. The guards could do nothing but stare in grim awe as their foe's Rock Wrecker sailed at them, only to crush them a second later against the front gate. The poor men were killed on impact, but Rhyperior's attack did far more than that, as the gate behind their broken bodies split wide open from the force of the impact, the wrought metal twisting inwards with a horrid screech.

"Alright!" cheered Mark, banging a fist against his Pokémon's back. Pain shot through his wrist, but the adrenaline coursing through him shut it out, and he pressed a finger against his ear, activating the two-way microphone concealed there. "This is Hunter. Main entrance has been breached. How's your progress, Moon?"

"Like you have to ask!" yelled a female voice behind him, and Mark's head spun around just in time to see Emily and her Metagross floating down towards them from one of the sentry towers, rifle cocked in her hand. "You got the easy job, but that's only because you suck so much," she teased, with a poke of the tongue that Mark couldn't distinguish between being playful or spiteful.

"How's about you hold that tongue back, before I cut it out," he retorted, turning back to the haunting dimness on the other side of the door. "Honcho, how's the diversion?" he asked.

"Diverting," grunted Shane's voice in the microphone, and a series of loud explosions rang clear through the air from somewhere high above the duo.

A muted chorus of shouts and thundering feet sounded from the prison's innards, and the groundside duo took it as their cue to slip inside, recalling their hefty Pokémon to their respective Poké Balls with a pair of red flashes. Placing the ball back in his harness, Mark led the way through the cold grey interior, pausing every now and then to signal to Emily, as the hectic sounds of guards scrambling over catwalks echoed throughout the building.

"This place is a shithole," Emily whispered, fingers wrapped around a small handgun as they continued over the stone floor.

"No argument there," replied Mark, eyes searching over the path ahead. The hallway, however, remained all but featureless; nothing but a long stretch of grey concrete, with doors occasionally appearing left and right to branch out into other long stretches of grey concrete. A flurry of footsteps reached their ears from beyond one of the doors, and the pair wordlessly positioned themselves either side as the footsteps grew louder.

With a loud creak, the door was flung open as three men in black uniform charged through, talking heatedly amongst themselves in Russian and each clutching a sleek, grey rifle. A blur raced in from their left, but before they could acknowledge or respond to the sudden movement, an ominous snap broke the silence, and the guard in front was sent crashing onto the ground with his head facing backwards.

"Whoa!" exclaimed one of the other guards, swinging around in alarm. He slid to join his murdered friend a moment later, a blade buried in his eye socket.

The final guard was not so easy to dispatch; having stood at the back, he had more than enough time to react to the dreadful scene unfolding in front of him. With a guttural roar he leapt over the corpses of his comrades, tackling Mark across the chest and forcing the pair of them onto the ground, the intruder gasping in surprise as he was held down. The faintest whisper of sounds reached his ears from behind, and he rolled instinctively, arms clamping around Mark's neck and holding him like a human shield.

"Take the—shot!" Mark choked, hands flailing as he struggled against the guard's unbreakable chokehold, and trying to push into the air with his legs. "Emily…!"

Standing over the pair, Emily stood paralysed as her teammate's face slowly changed colour, the guard's hardened face baring its teeth in exertion as his arms held fast. Her mind raced, searching for a solution to Mark's predicament that didn't involve killing him in the process.

"Don't even think about it," the man growled thickly, and his open mouth curled into a grin as he saw the woman lower her weapon in surrender.

A bullet spat from the muzzle, ricocheting off the ground and embedding itself in the guard's testicles. As the guard gave a high-pitched scream, his grip loosened for the briefest of moments, and Mark took the opportunity to break both his elbows in a volley of precise, successive strikes. Mark twisted around like a snake, rapidly extending an open palm, and it crashed into the guard's nose from point-blank range, shattering the cartilage and pushing chipped fragments of bone into his brain tissue. The man died as quickly as the first two, arms falling into the concrete as he lay spread-eagled and limp.

"What the hell?" he snapped, picking himself up off the floor. He turned to Emily, brow furrowed furiously. "Why'd you shoot, you crazy bitch?"

"You told me to shoot!" she shouted, looking between the gun in her hand and him.

"Yeah, but I never thought you'd actually do it! We're seriously going to have to work on our communication issues if you and me are gonna work."

"'You and me'?" Emily repeated, arching an eyebrow at him. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that we'd entered into some kind of relationship! I suppose our communication skills really do some work if you've somehow come to that kind of conclusion."

"What? Er—" stammered Mark, but his discomfort was punctuated by more footsteps from the distance. "This isn't the time for semantics, Emi. Let's hurry over to the cell."

"Right," said Emily with a nod.

With that, the pair headed deeper into the prison's labyrinthine innards, navigating through passageway after passageway. No more guards troubled them on their way; by a combination of quick thinking, evasive manoeuvres, they managed to avoid being spotted by any more groups, and Shane's continuous diversionary tactics seemed to be proving quite effective in forcing their efforts towards the upper levels. Thankfully, the prisoners they were looking for were located on the ground floor.

"This way…!" Mark whispered, pulling Emily into a side corridor as more guards moved through the hallway. "Come on, get a move on!" he called out over his shoulder, already running at full tilt down the pathway.

Surprised, Emily sped after him, the soft clatter of boots on concrete echoing in the narrow passage. Ahead of her, Mark continued to press forward, opening a small gap between the two that she struggled to keep from becoming larger. Twice, she lost sight of him as he took a sharp turn into a branching corridor, and she began to grow increasingly uneasy; their path seemed to stretch forever, and the end was nowhere in sight.

Barrelling down yet another passage, Emily found herself slamming on brakes and skidding to a stop. Mark was crouched down at the end of the corridor, in front of a narrow door covered in strips of riveted iron. She crept closer, and her eyes widened in quite excitement when she heard that he was talking to someone on the other side, exchanging words through the narrow slit halfway up the door.

"Is that them?" she asked tentatively.

Mark half-turned his head towards her, spotting her in the far corner of his eye. "It's them, alright. All three of them, right here."

"What a relief…!" Emily sighed, blowing out a deep breath and putting her hands on her hips. "Alright, I'll report it to Shane."

"Right."

Emily cupped a hand against her ear, pushing her thumb into the microphone to activate the speaker function. She winced when a high-pitched ring blasted her eardrums, but it quickly faded away into the dull, repetitive blare of static noise. "Honcho, this is Moon," she said clearly, as Mark set about burning through the door's cast-iron lock with his cutting torch. "Mission objective has been located. I repeat; mission objective has been located."

"I can see that," whispered a low voice behind her.

Emily spun around, handgun at the ready, and a loud gunshot pierced the damp air.

"Emily?" Mark exclaimed, spinning around, but a searing pain erupted in the back of his neck, shooting through his body like a laser beam, and he crumpled backwards onto the floor. Dazed, Mark groggily shifted his head to gaze back down the corridor, but he was met by nothing more than a pair of eyes.

Green, murky eyes.

"I'm surprised you made it this far," Shane laughed, straightening up and taking a step back.

Stupefied, Mark lowered his sights to the floor, and felt his heart sink down into the cold concrete when he saw Emily lying on the ground just as he was. At first, he thought that she must have been incapacitated in the same way as him… until he remembered the sound of the gunshot, and saw the drops of dull red covering the floor between her body and his.

"No…" he groaned, his voice subdued to a whisper.

Shane followed Mark's gaze to their prone teammate. "Yeah. Unfortunate, but she did try to pull a gun on me," he said nonchalantly, lifting his hand to show the small revolver looped through his fingers.

"No…!"

"It's nothing personal, Mark," Shane sneered, signalling to a mountainous-looking man standing behind them. The man stepped forward, hands clasped together in front of a muscled stomach hidden by a military garb, and his black eyes twinkled in the dull glare of the overhead lights. "Warden Karnatov, open the door," he instructed the man.

"First, the money," grunted Karnatov, and he gestured towards the tiny silver briefcase in his right hand.

Shane tossed a small piece of plastic, a portable computer drive, to the warden. "As you wish," he replied, extending his hand for the key to the prison cell.

"No!" Mark screamed, steadily finding his voice again, and he dragged himself over the ground despite the burning pain in his joints. Agonisingly, he closed a hand around Shane's boot, panting like a wounded beast and looked up at the man's eyes, silently demanding an explanation.

Shane hung his shoulders, as if in pity. "Even you must have realised the glaring holes in security, Mark," he told his former subordinate. "Chernaya Tochka isn't designed to repel intruders. It's a prison, for crying out loud! Did you even notice how the main gate's hinges were on the outside? They're designed to keep intruders from leaving with escapees. That's the reason nobody tries to break in – every last person who's tried in the past has found themselves joining the prison populace. Bribes are the only way to leave safely."

Mark's eyes continued to burn in defiant fury, his mouth hanging open as he tried to suck in breath, but Shane put him out of his misery with a powerful swing of the revolver, knocking him unconscious. As the former fell to the ground unmoving, Karnatov audibly cleared his throat and stepped between the two, fishing a ring of keys from a buckle on his belt.

"The money… is good. Enjoy your convicts, Mister Hayes," he said in English, but the thickness of his Russian accent curled the words considerably. Shane held back a soft chuckle, slowly rubbing his hands together as the warden chose one particular key out of the many adorning the key-ring, slipped it into the heavy lock and turned. The tumblers of the lock rotated loud and clear, and after one final click, the door swung slowly open.

Shane signalled for Karnatov to step aside, and he did so dutifully, contentedly tapping a hand against the silver briefcase. Ducking his head slightly to peer through the low doorframe, he was met with the sight of three gaunt-looking, dishevelled individuals, all sitting on narrow beds with their hands folded in their laps. Shane took a hesitant step inside the cell, reaching a hand out to lightly rest on the shoulder of the nearest person.

For a moment, the prisoner remained unmoving; all Shane could see was pointed, blue hair. When the prisoner finally raised its head, though, Shane felt a wide grin creep onto his face as he saw an unmistakeable pair of almond-shaped eyes and pencil-thin lips that curved upwards into a knowing smirk.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Mr Saturn."

Alright, we're into double digits! Only ninety more chapters before we can move up to the big triple, eh? Oh well, at this rate, I'm sure the two years will just fly by, haha.

Considering this chapter is a pretty chunky one, I don't know whether it flying by would be a good thing or a bad thing, but... regardless of which, I hope it was an enjoyable one.

As always, reviews with your comments and queries are all appreciated. Always good to see a nice number of them in the inbox the morning after I update; it's a good reminder that you guys take the time to give even a little feedback to something I've put a lot of effort into. It's all give and take, as they say!

Kinda disappointed that I don't get to answer any questions this time around! Oh darn... I have a feeling there'll be one or two after reading this one, in which case, see if you can persuade me, haha. Failing that, ask Billy; blabbermouth can't keep his mouth shut unless he's chewing down a victim. Or some caramel licorice. Blegh.

Alrighty, onto the next chapter we must go! Chapter 11 deserves a quick and zippy title after the last few weeks, and I think, "Java" is pretty wham-bammity. It'll come out next Tuesday, which is... let's see... December 6th! Wow, only a month until Christmas. Spoiler-wise, there'll be a battle in the chapter, so don't miss it! Remember, clicking this story guarantees a seat, but you'll only need the edge! Or so I hope.

So, until next time... Don't forget to review and, as always,

Believe it!