"Got any spare change, sir?"
The man walked past the other with a look of revulsion on his face, crossing to the other side of the road to avoid him.
Greg looked after the younger, well-groomed, businessman and aimed the empty liqueur bottle at his head. The bottle flew a few feet, and shattered harmlessly in the road.
"Bastard!" he spat bitterly on the ground, giving the retreating architect the finger before retreated back to the crevice between the two dumpsters that he called home.
He sat, crouched on the flattened cardboard box and scabby blankets he had lined the floor with, along with any garbage that would stay the cold, and didn't stink to the high heavens. Candy wrappers rustled and empty bottles clinked loudly as he sat back, regarding his environment.
He couldn't remember how he had found this place; just that this was the place he'd found himself in eight months ago, and hadn't moved from since. He had lost everything. He couldn't remember how, exactly, all he had was a sickening feeling that someone had stripped him of everything- everything he ever owned or ever was. He had nothing. He was no one; Just another deadbeat living on the streets of Manhattan, staring up at the enormous red-and-orange "R" which dominated the skyline.
He couldn't explain how, but it seemed familiar in some respect, and it filled him with rage just looking at it. The fact that he couldn't remember why was only a mere fraction of the matter. The very sight of the thing filled him with pure rage, blazing around him insides like fire and consuming every part of him. Then he'd take another swig from one of his bottles and all would be lost in a blur.
A blur like the three figures, who suddenly strolled past him.
He couldn't see them properly; they seemed to be composed almost entirely of the heat haze that radiated off the sidewalk in midsummer. One figure, taller than the others, walked ahead, holding out his wrist as if regarding a watch. The other two moved along together, joined, or connected somehow. One was a lot taller than the other, and much bigger and sturdier in build. The other was quite plainly a woman, dwarfed by the sheer size of the others. She carried what seemed to be a tree branch in one hand, while the other appeared to be grasping that of the other.
He couldn't see their faces, but he could sense something between those two. Friendship? Simple fondness? Companionship? Mutual attraction? L…
He told himself he was just drunk, again. He had to be to see them in such a state.
"Got any spare change?" he said feebly, holding out the empty soup tin he used for begging. A solitary penny rattled in the bottom as he held it up. He now hoped he was drunk. Any method of making himself look more pathetic would increase his chances of raking in some cash.
Cash to buy the alcohol he needed to blind himself from the harsh reality of the world.
All three figures stopped abruptly, facing him. He stared back at them, still unable to make them out. They towered over him, and yet not casting a show or blocking the light from the setting sun. They were there, and yet, not there at the same time.
None of them spoke.
"Got any spare change?" he repeated, hoping that they were not simply hallucinations brought on by the cheap vodka in his right hand.
At these words, the tallest figure suddenly lunged at him, grabbing him by the throat and hoisting him roughly into the air. A sudden rush of cold enveloped him as he hung from the attacker's hand, clenched tightly around his throat and making breathing almost impossible.
Definitely not an illusion.
He struggled and thrashed, but was too weak to resist the man's sheer strength. The alcohol clouding his senses didn't help, either. He blindly lashed out with his only weapon, the glass bottle. He thrashed his arms violently, trying desperately to make contact with anything, anything at all which would cause his attacker pain. Finally, he brought it down to meet the assailant's head with a loud smash and the splash of liquid.
And the clang of metal.
Fragments of glass fell harmlessly to the floor, but no blood mixed with the transparent liquid that pooled on the floor.
There was a sound of slicing metal and a loud snarl. His eyes bulged open as the grip on his neck tightened, and he made the figure out to be bringing his arm back, with what resembled a long knife in his hand Greg braced himself and closing his eyes tight, tears streaming in his eyes, waiting for the end.
But it didn't come. A voice came instead. A female voice. The voice of the smallest of the figures. He couldn't make out what she was saying, as the alcohol had blurred his hearing as well as his sight. All he could tell was that it was some kind of an argument, the figure holding him replying in a hissing, sinister voice, with a deep warning growl and a voice just as deep sounding as if it was speaking in the defence of the smallest of the trio.
Suddenly, the hand released him and he fell to the floor, gasping for breath and clutching his throat. He curled into a foetal position to protect himself from any further attacks, but none came. All he heard was the sound of footsteps growing fainter, and the chink of coins in his money tin. He sat up.
The three figures had gone. He could sense it. The strange haziness was gone and the air was clears, aside from the smog from a car's exhaust as it passed him by. He picked up the tin and emptied the contents into his hand: three quarters, two dimes, one nickel and the old, rusty penny.
"Every cloud has a silver lining," he thought as he rummaged for another bottle of vodka. The drink dulled the pain instantaneously, soothing the walls of his crushed throat.
He had just emptied the entire contents of the bottle down his throat, when he heard the sound of a car drawing up. He didn't take of it until he heard the sound of doors opening and multiple footsteps approaching.
He looked up to see a truck standing on the curb, with no logo, writing or anything to distinguish it whatsoever. It was just a plain, dull, dirty grey, and was completely featureless. A gloss black BMW was parked in front, the doors closing with a snap. Tall men dressed in smart, important-looking suits approached him, dark sunglasses hiding their eyes. They all came to a stop before him, the glare from the sunset making their features indistinguishable.
One of them bent down to his level, taking off his shades. Greg stared at the gaunt, strangely familiar face. He knew this man. But from where?
"Well, well, well; if it isn't old Greg Simmons."
Greg startled. "How do you know my name?" he demanded.
"Oh, I know a lot about you, Simmons. We used to work together. You were just a little too nosey with the boss's private files."
Suddenly, two of the men seized Greg by the arms, one of them punching him in the stomach, winding him. His head hung feebly like an old scruffy teddy bear losing the stitching in its neck, blood dripping from his mouth.
"Easy, boys. The boss wants them alive, for now, anyway. Throw him in the back with the others and let's get out of here."
The other two nodded, and began to drag Greg towards the back of the truck while another opened the doors. A hand feebly reached forwards, trying to claw its way out, but one of the men stomped on it, forcing it to retreat back into the shadowy depths. The man who had confronted the beggar held a cell phone to his ear.
"Mr Redway, sir. It's Smith. We've got the last one and are heading back."
The cold metal doors slammed from behind Smith as he hung up, the truck's engine roaring into life. He stepped back into the car, a look of contentment on his face.
-------------
"Why the hell did you attack him like that?"
"He noticed us. He was a threat."
"He was homeless, weak and drunk. He was completely harmless!"
"He could have alerted other oomans to our presence."
"Oh, and a sudden cry of pain and a dead body suddenly falling out of nowhere and soaking the sidewalk with blood wouldn't?"
"Same difference."
"Lex is right. And besides, it is against hunting code to kill defenceless or weak prey unless absolutely necessary."
Shadow was tiring of verbal jousting. This ooman was becoming more of an annoyance than he had previously anticipated, and the fact that his comrade was continuously siding with her just added to his irritation. She was an itch that he just couldn't scratch. As soon as he got to the hard meat, the better.
He glanced back at the other two, still grasping each other's arm, sharing the cloaking field. What was going on between them? What did this ooman mean to G'raal, really? Shadow had a feeling that there was something going on that the other hunter wasn't telling him…
He just shrugged it off, and went back to focusing straight ahead, leading the small party through the twisting network of streets and alleyways towards the subway.
Lex wasn't exactly enjoying Shadow's company, either. It had taken nearly an hour to fully convince the predator to let her guide the group once they got into Redway's building, and the fact that they were both as stubborn as each other hadn't helped matters either. The other thing that got on her nerves was Shadow's callous nature. He didn't seem to care what he did or the people he hurt or killed along the way, as long as he succeeded in the hunt.
At least she had Scar.
They walked alongside, their arms linked to maintain the cloaking connection. She looked up at the hunter, his face hidden behind the metallic mask.
"Thanks for backing me up," she said quietly.
"Don't mention it," said Scar gruffly, looking down at his companion. "But it is true, though. Yautja are forbidden from attacking weak or defenceless prey unless threatened or provoked. It's just not right," he added. "There is no honour in defeating a weak foe."
Lex felt herself shiver when she remembered when Scar had killed Mr Weyland back in Antarctica. Then again, he had set Scar on fire, and she would have been pretty pissed off if someone had done that to her.
She stared back up at him, and that familiar, light feeling rose again in her stomach. She tried to ignore it but she couldn't. She locked eyes with Scar, mahogany meeting amber, each behind a pair of visors. She only hoped her set would shield what her own eyes might be betraying.
Scar stared back at Lex, a smile forming behind his mandibles. There was that strange sensation again, the flutter in his gut whenever he and Lex looked at each other. He had to admit that he liked her a lot. And he assumed, or rather hoped, that Lex felt the same way about him. But was the feeling between them mutual?
If only they were alone, and there wasn't an infestation of hard meats to hunt down and Shadow wasn't breathing down their necks.
Then they all came to a sudden halt. The pair tore their eyes from each other to look ahead; and the moment was lost.
Shadow had brought them to a halt right at the stairwell that would take them down into the subway system. The place was buzzing with chattering voices. Commuters jostled here and there, pushing and shoving their way past each other, desperately trying to get down to the platform before the next train home left, or to grab the next cab that drew up on the curb.
The three of them stood by the railings, well out of the way of the sea of people and briefcases.
"One thing's for certain, we're not getting down that way," said Scar, irritably. "I've never seen so many oomans!"
"I have," sniffed Shadow. "Not this lively, of course." He added with a satisfied sneer.
Lex ignored him. "Isn't there another way in?"
"These tunnels are our quickest and most straight forward route available," Shadow hissed. "Unless you fancy going in through the front door, this our only way down there. All we have to do is… clear a path." He smirked, holding out his wrist blades, ready to extend the blades.
"Don't you even think about it," Lex hissed, grabbing hold of Shadow's wrist. She was far too weak to put up much of a fight, but a warning growl from Scar made Shadow drop his arms to his side.
"Got any better ideas?" he hissed, ripping his arm out of Lex's grasp. "You're an ooman; you now how these things work. You come up with a better plan."
Lex pondered for a moment.
"You're right," she said at last. "I do know how these things work; and unlike you two, I don't stick out in a crowd like a sore thumb. Scar, hold this." She added, passing her combi stick to the yautja grasping her arm.
Scar took it, confused. He was even more confused, and a little disappointed, when Lex's arm slipped from his grasp, severing the connection, and she faded into existence. None of the other oomans seemed to notice her. They just walked straight past her, in too much of a hurry to notice a dark skinned female popping up out of nowhere.
Lex took her visors off and winked at the air where the two predators had stood.
"I hope you two are good at climbing," she said, her voice drowned to passers-by by the droning babble. "Got any suction cups or anything in that utility belt of yours?"
-------------
"I can't believe I'm doing this!" Shadow hissed angrily. "Oomans are prey. They're supposed to hide from us; not the other way around!"
"Stop complaining!" Scar growled. "You'll give us away! Just follow Lex and stick to the plan."
Scar had to admit that the conditions weren't exactly comfortable. Both yautja crawled along the ceiling, gravity discs clamped onto their hands and knees, following the dark-skinned woman below them.
"Do you really trust her?" Shadow sneered. "How do you know she isn't luring us both into a trap?"
There was a moment of silence. Scar didn't exactly want to share his personal feelings with this hunter, not only because they were dangling precariously above a long line of queued oomans; but because he didn't really know how he could explain it, keeping his true emotions under wraps while getting Shadow off his back at the same time.
"I would trust Lex with my life." Scar replied, finally. "It is still hers after all."
There was another long pause. Scar crawled forward, inch by inch, following his companion as she progressed slowly forward. The speed oomans moved at was most infuriatingly slow; either in the streets or underground. At least she was nearly at the ticket booth.
"What does she mean to you, really?" came a hiss from behind.
Scar stopped, frozen on the spot. Shadow hadn't moved since he had last spoke, and was several yards behind him. He didn't answer. He didn't know how to answer. He just stared down at the line of oomans beneath him, their voices droning and echoing around the tunnel.
Scar shuddered, remembering the voice that had droned in his mind as he lay unconscious aboard the yautja mother ship, five years ago. The voice that belonged to the ooman woman he was now watching over. He jerked back to his senses, watching Lex hand the ooman sitting in the booth some money, and receiving a small piece of paper in return. As she walked through a mechanised barrier, he followed, ignoring Shadow who followed suit, silent once more.
Lex walked out onto the platform, joining the commuters which continued to pile up around her. She backed up towards the wall, slipping her visors back on, scanning the ceiling for any sign of the yautja.
"Nice shades, lady!"
Lex just ignored rowdy the teenager and went back to scanning the ceiling for her companions. At last, she found them, clinging to the ceiling on the opposite wall, reminding her of a pair of very badly dressed Spidermen. She nodded to them, and Scar replied in kind. All they had to do now was wait.
Finally, the train pulled into the station, its breaks squealing loudly. As soon as the doors opened, the platform seemed to empty in a matter of seconds, with almost everyone in the station squeezing in, ignoring protests from those already on and those leaving the train. In the midst of all the confusion, Lex cloaked, and dissolved into the shadows.
She waited while the platform emptied, getting as close as she could towards the end of the platform where the yautja waited. As more people piled onto the train, more filled the platform. Lex was starting to worry. If they couldn't see her, they might push her in onto the track and in front of the train as it started moving. She pushed her worst case scenario to the side, and waited, flat against the wall as the platform refilled.
Finally, with a beep and a hiss from the mechanism, the doors finally closed. The horn sounded, and the train moved forward, gathering speed until it was gone with a rush and a roar, a great blast of wind following in its wake.
As soon as the last car had passed the platform, Lex dropped down onto the track bed. Ballast crunched under her feet as she made her way towards the tunnel entrance. As she reached it, two loud crunches told her that the yautja were behind her.
"Let's go," she said. "We've got five minutes to find somewhere off the track before the next train comes.
The two hunters growled in agreement. Shadow walked ahead as usual, Lex and Scar following, linking arms again and deactivating Lex's cloaking.
The light grew weaker and weaker as they made their way through the tunnel. Lex switched to night vision, and stared around the tunnel. The wooden sleepers were caked in moss and sodden through, making them slippery underfoot. Water dripped from the ceiling in a steady rhythm, in some places forming patches of black, slimy mould. The rails themselves were rusty and thick with grime, with mice scuttling between them as they progressed.
Lex wasn't afraid of the dark. In fact, she was enjoying this little adventure. This was just another cave, except it was a lot more level with railway tracks running through it. She'd been down an abandoned gold mine with her father when she was just a kid, and this was almost exactly the same experience; apart from the ground being relatively even, no danger of cave ins, and the fact that she was grasping the arm of 7.5 foot tall alien.
Lex felt at home here. There was a strange sensation of nostalgia about the place that took her back to the days before the trip to Antarctica, when she would have done things like this on a nearly daily basis.
A sudden blast of an electric horn snapped Lex out of her daydream. She whirled around, Scar turning with her. In the distance, headlamps glared in the darkness. And they were getting nearer, coming at them at an incredible pace.
The train was early.
Before Lex could do anything else, Scar grabbed her around the waist and galloped off at an incredible speed, charging blindly forward through the tunnel.
Lex peered back from under Scar's arm.
"It's gaining on us!" she cried.
Scar growled and tried to go faster, but no matter how hard he pushed himself, the train behind them was closing in, swallowing the rails and sleepers as it approached. Scar glanced back quickly, scanning the width of the train and the width of the tunnel. There was no way they'd be able to squeeze into the gap between tunnel and train, unless they both suddenly shrunk to the size of mice. Scar growled angrily. He was cornered.
The train was now so close that Scar was sure that any moment it was going to ram into him. He shook off the sickening thought and looked ahead. Shadow was nowhere to be seen.
How had he…?
Then a strong hand grabbed him by the arm and wrenched him roughly to the side, falling forwards slightly as he and Lex smashed into a stone wall.
Scar looked to the side. The train shot past them in a flash of light and wind. It was gone in a matter of seconds, the click and clack of wheels being the only proof of its movements, or even existence.
That had been close. Too close.
He looked around, taking this new setting in. He was now crouched in what appeared to be a small side tunnel, the floor covered with the same rocky ballast that the tracks ran on.
Scar shook himself, and looked down at Lex, who was still pressed against his chest plate, trembling slightly.
"You alright?" he asked.
She didn't answer. She just nodded a couple of times, and grasped his arm even tighter. Scar stared down at her. He understood.
"Near death experiences are getting to be a habit." he said, bringing his arm up a little and wrapping it round her. In his embrace, she relaxed a little, and her breathing got steadier. Scar understood that this type of act was comforting to an ooman in distress, and he had to admit that he found it rather pleasant as well.
That odd sensation resurfaced again as Scar held her, his talloned hand gently rubbing her shoulder. He looked down at Lex and smiled from behind his mask. For the second time that day, he wished for the two of them be alone. Together.
Lex looked up at him, her visors slipping off her face. She didn't retrieve them at once. She just stared into his face, a weak smile forming on her face.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
Scar answered with another gentle rub of her shoulder, and retrieved the visors and handed them back to her. When she'd slipped them back on, the two sat in silence for a while, regarding each other.
Lex could feel that odd sensation growing stronger. So could Scar. They held each other closely, crouched in the tunnel's entrance.
"What are you doing?"
Shadow's voice brought the two of them back to Earth with a bump. They turned to see older yautja was looking down at them. His mask hid his expression, but Lex had a sickening feeling that he was looking at them with a mixture of suspicion and bewilderment.
Lex was starting to feel uneasy again.
"Inspecting her for injuries," Scar said after an awkward pause. "Got to make sure she's in a suitable condition to be fighting hard meats."
"By rubbing her shoulder and embracing her?"
"It helps to ease stress." Scar retorted
"Right…" said Shadow, turning away, sarcasm clear in his voice.
Lex had a feeling he knew something that he wasn't letting on. But Shadow seemed to have lost interesting them. He was looking around, taking in the new environment.
"Were exactly are we?" she asked, getting to her feet. She felt reluctant to let Scar go, but it didn't confuse her this time. Lex was starting to understand what it was between the two of them.
"You're the ooman; I'd thought you were the expert." Shadow sniffed.
Lex ignored him, and looked around, taking the place in. The tunnel they were in was quite short and broad, with easily enough width for three fully grown men to stand side by side (although Shadow made it took like now there was only room for half of one). At the other end of the tunnel, Lex could make out another track, but this one looked in even worse a state than the one they'd just left. Rust, grime and mould seemed to dominate the place.
"This must be one of the service tunnels the maintenance workers use," she said, stepping out onto the darker, damp ballast.
"They're not exactly doing much of a good job," Scar commented, stepping out after her and peering around at the new tunnel. "This place looks like it hasn't been used for years."
"Probably hasn't," said Lex. "The line we were just on is the main line, which goes round in a loop under the city. There's a whole bunch of disused tracks down here in case there's an accident or something on the main one. It's sort of an alternative route in case the main passage gets blocked."
"Fascinating." Shadow sniffed, not bothering to disguise his sarcasm.
Lex ignored him. She turned to Scar. "Is he always like this?"
"Pretty much," Scar replied. "Problem is, he's the only one with a working Sat-Com; so we'll just have to put up with it for now."
"Speaking of which…"
Shadow stepped before them, the wrist outstretched. A small, 3D building floated in mid air, a perfect replica of the one he'd scanned earlier that day. Lex watched as the image expanded until it was large enough for them all to see clearly, before another layer formed beneath it, spanning out like a plan of a maze.
The word that Lex tried not to think of was labyrinth. For all she knew, there was a monster lurking down there in the darkness. Not a Minotaur, but something much, much worse.
Slowly, the main building faded from view and the maze dominated the space in which it had been, projected in red light which shone bright enough to light up the tunnel.
Time to find their way in.
Look out, Redway. Lex thought. I'm coming.