The Sixtieth Day of Dark: 4:00 PM: From the Biologue of Kanaya Maryam, Entry Number Unknown
I am most certainly aware of the fact that biologues needn't any physical intervention in their coding to produce readable records of a certain designated period of time. However, in light of recent events, I have reviewed the data from this particular day. This journalistic entry is to verify that I, Kanaya Maryam, have tampered with the contents of this day's log, but the evidence within is still presentable.
Notable changes include the removal of any excessive or unnecessary information, as well as the addition of biological scan data from Dave Strider. This is to certify the authenticity of the account recorded within this log entry.
Playback should not be impacted by my tinkering.
The Sixtieth Day of Dark: 4:00 PM: From the Biologue of Kanaya Maryam, Entry Number Unknown
Despite being thinner than you recall, the troll before you is most definitely your friend, Karkat Vantas. He has the same furrowed brows and a familiar air of perpetual disdain. His eyes—the pupils rimmed with a thin line of red—meet yours, and he offers you a simple nod. Elbowing through the crowd, you rush forwards to meet him. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a hug, before quickly releasing.
"Where's Dave?" you ask, opting to skip the formalities of reacquainting yourself with him. You'll have time to do that later. Right now, you have to figure out where Dave is. Wherever he is, Rose, too, will be.
When he responds to your inquiry, however, your heart sinks. "He's in the back. I'm not sure how great of an idea it is to go rushing back into there, though, the whole place is blown to fucking shit. I'd—" He sputters into silence as you shove a knife into his hands.
Its blade is long and thin, perfect for stabbing, but not so great for blocking or cutting. You, too, have two of these. This third one, you had stowed in your boot. They're the standard issue sort of blade for assassins, and it's more discrete than your preferred weapon (a chainsaw). They lend themselves to the combat style of assassin training. Act without hesitation, kill without regrets, and keep your blade clean and free of notches.
"Rose is in the back," you explain, your voice low. "I'm going. You can follow, if you wish, but I'll be going with or without your additional support."
You needn't say this twice. Karkat, the blade in hand, follows.
Both of you shove your way through the crowd, and it eventually thins out.
By this point, the walls are beginning to show obvious structural damage. Huge sections are caved in, and the concrete floors are cracked. The surface is uneven.
"Both of you!" a voice calls from the darkness as you near what seems to be the flickering light of a growing fire. Outlined against the red-orange fog, you see a guard. His gun is raised.
Before he can react, Karkat sprints forward. One hand shoves the guard's pistol hand upwards, and the bullet fired from its barrel presumably buries itself in the concrete ceiling. With the other hand, Karkat spears the guard through the side. As the man drops, a bloodied Karkat steps aside.
You, rushing forward, gaze down at the fallen man. Upon closer inspection, you find that he, too, is a troll. His horns are both broken off, and the pupils of his eyes rimmed with a light purple. As you pry the gun from his hand, Karkat speaks up.
"That shouldn't have been enough to kill him. Someone will find him." He shrugs, grabs the gun's holster from the guard's belt, and attaches it to the belt loop of his prison jumpsuit. He uses this to hold his knife.
From your experience, you know that Karkat has never been big on killing. His motto is to kill only the essential people. Targets, and perhaps their guards. You, however, know that this is irrelevant, now. This troll knows both your and Karkat's face. After unzipping your jacket, you pull from the formerly hidden sheath your own blade. You swiftly slit the troll's throat, then shove the corpse aside. As you rise back to your feet, wiping the purple blood from your hands against your black skirt, you notice the look of horror on Karkat's face.
"You killed him," he sputters.
"I had to," you shrug, then move onwards. You grab Karkat by the wrist, and he follows. "Don't look back."
As he catches up to you, he nods. "You've always been able to do..." he searches for a word, only to come up with nothing. Eventually, he concludes, "That."
"If you're in my way, I'll warn you. If you're in my way when there's an emergency, you don't receive that courtesy. This was the latter," you say, wiping your blade against your skirt. While it doesn't bother you, keeping blood on your blade is against code. You don't really follow much of this anymore, but it's easier to use a sleek, untarnished blade than one caked with dried blood.
As if showing up purely to demonstrate this, another guard—this one an Argonian—stumbles from the wreckage of one of the cells. Upon seeing you, she drops the corpse she'd obviously been looting, and fumbles with her gun. Before the holster is even unlatched, your blade is through her stomach. A singular, powerful yank dislodges it. Again, you wipe away the blood.
There's a heavy thud behind you, as you've continued walking. "Keep walking, Karkat. You've forgotten your training."
"I was at the bottom of our class," he huffs. "Don't talk assfuckery about training, you goddamned valedictorian."
"How does one carry an injured ally from a dangerous space?" you demand, knowing from the increasingly ruined building around you that you might need to use these techniques.
Karkat, after a few moments, responds with a fair amount of hesitancy. "Preferably on a stretcher, because I'm not a goddamned cretin. But, we don't have one. I'd guess over the shoulder."
You nod.
After grabbing a slightly cracked but still operable flashlight from the corpse of a fallen inmate—something that rouses a look of disgust from your fellow troll and assassin—you continue searching.
Eventually, you approach an area that's little more than pile upon pile of rubble and dust. Looking up, there's a straight view upwards, to what you estimate to be the third floor of the building. From beneath one of the piles of concrete and cement debris, there comes the sound of sputtering hisses and groaning wheezes. When you shine your light on the pile, however, you see nothing more than an average pile of ruined building.
Karkat's reaction, however, says otherwise. He shoves past you, and immediately begins tossing aside the smaller bits of debris.
Nearby, there are two fallen guards. While Karkat is distracted, you remove their uniforms. After slipping into one, you save the other for Karkat. These will be useful when you escape. The chaos of this event is clear, and no one will pay any mind to two guards carrying out prisoners.
"Dave?" By the time you turn your attentions back to Karkat, he's begun calling through the cracks in the formerly solid shell of wreckage. Through these gaps, you can see that there's a dark space within. "You in there?"
Against all odds—and your expectations—Rose's voice speaks up. "I've dislodged a bit of rebar from my shoulder. I know Kanaya's out there, so I would like to humbly ask that you prepare some bandages. Again, I know you have these. Dave should be the priority."
"How fucking noble of you," Karkat huffs, struggling to dislodge a fairly small boulder.
Around now, it occurs to you that the thinness you observed earlier is likely due to him being underfed. You rush over, easily remove the slab of cracked concrete, and find yourself peering into what might be some sort of miracle. While a good amount of debris has surrounded the pair, the large chunks have been kept at bay by deformed rebar. Considering the visible remnants of the cell's construction, you can only assume that it's a maximum security one.
Rose, clutching a bloodied shoulder, gazes up at you, bruised and bloodied, but perfectly alive.
Your heart swells. Yet, it aches for your friend, whom you know to have since grown fond of his former target. (This fact is what has prompted you to act on his behalf, quietly pushing the pair together. You've done this to encourage Karkat to leave the assassins, as it's not the most viable lifestyle. Aside from that, you know it's not for him.)
Dave is in far worse shape than Rose. Aside from the fact that there's far more blood staining the shreds of his light grey jumpsuit, he reeks of literal shit. He remains slumped forward, his chest heaving as he gasps for breath.
Some more time—at least an hour—passes before you and Karkat finally clear enough of the wreckage away for Dave to be wheeled out. He's unresponsive.
Rose remains as controlled and calm as ever.
Karkat, meanwhile, seems to have turned to stone. He remains silent, his lips pressed together and refusing to move. His eyes are locked forwards.
"Some local Prospitian supporters have cleared a way through the subterranean transport system," you explain, parroting what Rose had debriefed you on this morning. "We'll exit through there."
Rose, still able to walk, nods.
You dress her wound, allowing for Karkat to rush forwards on his own. You're confident in his ability to find where he's going, and your concern, right now, is your girlfriend.