Bespelling Taylor's features onto his own face took a fair bit of magic, power Ethan couldn't afford to spend, but it was necessary to look like he belonged in the Council's labs. He didn't stop to gawk outside of the labs. Taylor would have walked right in, and besides he didn't need to. There was nothing to distinguish them from any other building in London. They certainly gave off no harboring-evil vibes and no, by evil Ethan most definitely did not mean the demons. Even the foyer was blandly utilitarian. The walls with their tannish shade gave the impression that being a definite color would be too much of a statement.
The guards, seated behind a large desk, looked almost bored. Ethan felt anything but. These men wouldn't hesitate to gun him down if they realized he wasn't whom he seemed. The polymer knife, hidden in Ethan's pocket, wouldn't protect him. Why had he even bothered to bring it? Would it give him away? They recognized Ethan's face, well not his own face but Taylor's, and barely glanced at Taylor's badge before waving Ethan through. One of them even greeted him but it seemed more of a rote acknowledgement than a call to an actual conversation. Replying in kind, Ethan thanked Janus that Taylor hadn't been a chatty man. Ethan felt dreadfully unprepared. What had he been thinking rushing in with such a flimsy persona? If he failed now, he'd never have another chance to rescue Rupert.
He'd killed Taylor too quickly. He'd never had a chance to walk through Taylor's mind, to learn the man's passwords or his daily routines. Ethan was merely winging it. Granted, that had worked for most of his life but in this bastion of Order, this lone son of Chaos felt dreadfully overwhelmed.
As he wandered the maze of hallways, Ethan cursed himself for not mapping out the layout first. He knew exactly what the doorway to the cells looked like but he didn't quite know how to find it. Doubling back as he came to the end of a hallway must have drawn attention. One of the Council's minions popped his head out of an office. Ethan walked faster, trying to lose the man, but failed. "Director Taylor, shouldn't you be at your 8:15?" The man wore a labcoat but no badge. Nothing gave away his name or status. Giles' memories didn't recognize him which suggested he was a low-level functionary, no one of importance, possibly a mere lab tech.
In for a penny, in for a pound. "There's data I need on Rupert Giles first, um, results of a lab test, but I need blood, that is I need to draw blood. So I'll just be on my way then, shall I?"
Lab tech's smile froze about halfway through Ethan's speech. Damn, something had given him away. Ethan drew out the polymer knife, let the man see it, and pressed it quickly between two of lab tech's ribs. "Get me to Giles if you want to live."
The look of panic on lab tech's face would have been quite amusing if the situation weren't quite so dire. The doorway to the cells was in sight when the alarms went off. Lab tech jumped at the high-pitched wailing. Ethan scanned the area until he found the security cameras. They were cleverly concealed, so well hidden that Ethan hadn't noticed them until he'd looked for them.
Now that he was at the doors, lab tech had served his purpose. Pocketing the knife, Ethan punched lab tech in the face. The man dropped like a fly. Holding a hand to his bloody nose, he scurried off.
Ethan darted to the doorway and swiped Taylor's badge. The little light did not change from red to green. He swiped it again. Damn, they must have locked down the doors. He called on Willow's power and shot magic through. The electronic lock gave way. He shoved the door open and ran past the cells, row upon row of them. The walls and doors were clear. There was no hiding here. In the first cell, he saw a Fyarl strapped to a surgical table.
The next cell stopped him cold. He stared, shocked to see a six year old Rupert staring back. The boy was crying. "Ethan, please help. Please. They're hurting me Ethan." No, it wasn't a boy. He could feel it's demonic energy. Even so, Ethan had trouble wrenching his gaze away. Cuclidious demon, it had to be. Ethan took off running again but couldn't help the wrench in his heart, the feeling he was abandoning Rupert.
The next two cells were a Mok'tagar and a Tahval. Where was Rupert? He had to be here. Ethan kept running past demon after demon until he finally found Rupert strapped to one of those tables. He looked older than he ever had, defeated. Ethan poured magic into the lock, shattering it. Rupert had to be alive, didn't he? They wouldn't keep him strapped to a table if they'd killed him. He ran over and stopped short with a gasp. What had they done to Rupert's hand? It was wrapped but blood seeped through, staining the bandage.
Rupert's eyes fluttered open. "Ethan? No, you can't be here. They'll hurt you, Ethan. Really, really hurt you." Ethan winced at the whimper in Rupert's voice. "They're so good at it. Flee, my love. Fly away before they …"
The door burst open. Armed men surrounded the surgical table. Ethan wasn't sure what the weapons were but suspected they'd debilitate rather than kill which was worse really. He'd much rather be dead than in the Council's hands.
Ethan could hear the slow click of shoes against the floor in the hallway. Alan, most likely, come to revel in their defeat. A tear trickled down Rupert's cheek. "No, Ethan, no."
Ethan rested a hand on Rupert's arm. "Hush, dear." He had one move left, a desperate gamble. If it didn't work, they were screwed. Alan would torture them both purely for the fun of it. Ethan drew on Willow's magic, all of it, hoped it would be enough, and magicked them out. Teleported. Apparated. Whatever you wanted to call it. He got them the hell out of there.