Chris was having the strangest dream. He was back in his bunk bed, but without any of the warmth and comfort he knew it should have; everything felt imbalanced and ominous, and Chris himself was disoriented, addled, and confused. Was he home ill? Had something happened? Nothing was quite explainable. Things were cold, and strange, and frightening. He might have thought he could hear the ladder creaking, but it more seemed like the whole room groaned. The bed shifted and breathed around him like an primordial, hell-spawned mass, as if he were enveloped in a living and malicious ooze, and instead of anything being illuminated by a gentle early morning sun filtering through soft curtains, it was all dark, dark, dark.
It was not the blue eyes, this time, that he recognized of his brother, but his silhouette, hovering over him.
"Chris. Are you alright?" Came down that familiar voice, through a filter of half-asleep distortion.
"Mmmm... I guess." He sighed.
"I'm... leaving. I wanted to tell at least someone."
"Are you...late?" Chris asked, not really processing what was being said.
"I'm so sorry, Chris," he whispered "and... you can totally rub it in my face after. You're right, you always are, but... I have to get help!"
"Sure you do." Chris mumbled, still thinking he was in a dream. He felt a warm hand place itself softly on his forward.
"Just... take care of everyone if something happens, okay?" Martin said. "Between the two of us, you always were the responsible one."
Martin's outline faded into the rest of the darkness.
.
.
.
The Peregrine Falcon suit was absolutely not suited for cold weather. About thirty minutes into his flight, Martin was already shivering to his core. His wings were nearly numb, but he fortunately had enough muscle memory to maintain his altitude and trajectory.
Martin had stolen Jimmy's map book, so he knew where he was going. He felt terrible, he felt terrible for everything, but it was at least a different kind of terrible from what he felt just sitting, waiting in the belly of the Tortuga, dreading what would happen to Chris, to everyone, if they were left behind with only one suit-user to protect them. I say again, he felt terrible, but at least he felt productive.
It was a surreal journey to make far above the vast white desert. If he stared at the snow too long he was stricken with minor hallucinations, more like optical illusions, of shaking, wavering light sloshing around in tiny, psychedelic patterns. Staring up at the sky just made his neck hurt. It was the most devoid of life he had ever seen anywhere; normally in a sandy desert he could have at least spotted a lizard or a bird or a bug or two, especially with Peregrine powers, but here there was just...nothing. No penguins or seals or other sea-birds, just an endless expanse of white.
He would have to land every once and awhile, to rest his wings and clumsily check the map. With this and the slower speeds Chris had correctly predicted, it all took about 2 hours.
2 hours until it came into view. It started as a black dot on the horizon, then, as he approached, grew into an actual complex, his destination, a wonderful source of relief.
It was very modestly sized. There were about three buildings in total; one was a bright red cabin about the size of a typical suburban mansion, and the other two were pale and grey in color, both one story, the first being made of wood, and the second being metal with no windows. There was a radio tower, and a satellite dish, and some storage units, but not much else. It appeared completely uninhabited; all vehicle tracks were nonexistent, and nothing stirred - well, Martin thought he saw a dark shadow move in one of the windows of that smaller wooden cabin, but he chalked it up to being a trick of the imagination, the fantasies of a weary mind.
He crashed into the epicenter of the structures. He decided that, since the radio tower was right next to it, the largest building was most likely to contain the communications room. He hobbled over to it, looking quite ungraceful, as a Peregrine Falcon would in Antarctica. As exposed as it made him feel, he had to eventually deactivate. He felt warmer back in his regular human body, thanks to all those layered clothes that did not cross over into bird form, but he was now quite defenseless, especially since he had left the feather behind for the crew to use in case of an emergency. However, it was all for the very simple fact that he had to open up the door, or a window, or a vent on the roof, or whatever was available, which a falcon cannot do.
To his surprise, the first thing he tried to open, which was the front door, was unlocked.
He was struck with instant shock and disgust.
"You have got to be kidding me." He said aloud.
There, sitting in a metal chair beneath a coat rack, wrapped in a blanket like a child, with a bowl of soup in his lap, conspicuously not surrounded by a gang of ridiculous looking robots, was Zach Varmitech.
"Wild rat!" He exclaimed, as surprised as Martin, if not more so. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, well, you know, I didn't really have anywhere else to go after you blew us out of the sky!" Martin growled, his fists balling up.
"Blew you out of the sky? Are you trying to be annoying, or crazy? I didn't know you guys were here! I was promised you wouldn't even show up!"
"Of course we'd show up! We always show up, because you put innocent animals in danger! Fuh! And I'm the one who's crazy."
"Just get out! Go find your own abandoned outpost, this one is mine."
"Whatever, I don't have time for this." Martin blew past Zach, moving towards a hallway.
"Don't ignore me!" Zach snapped. "Hey! HEY! GET BACK HERE!" Martin kept walking. "Don't make me sick my new friends on you!"
Martin stopped, and turned around. "New friends?"
"I'll do it!" Zach grabbed a walkie-talkie that was sitting next to him. "NORA! AXEL! Get in here, there's a wild r-"
The door slammed open, and in burst two strangers in dark coats.
"We saw him fly in." Said the first, a man who sounded like he might be a Kiwi, who Martin assumed to be Axel. He was very angular, even with his puffy snow coat on, he had no roundness to him whatsoever. He pulled down his hood to reveal a garish and unkempt mohawk.
"So, wild rat," said Zach, grinning childishly wickedly, "meet my new friends! They're super tough, and are gonna mop the floor with your stupid face!" He laughed, almost as if this were a game of threats on a playground.
"Aw, I thought we had killed all of these guys." Said the second stranger, who was a woman, and thus had to be Nora. She too dropped her hood, and raised her snow goggles, revealing a loose and uncontrolled top knot, and an intense, wild, almost crazed pair of eyes. She gave off an air of gleeful cruelty.
"Oh, that was you?" Martin said, slowly backing away.
"What? You guys didn't tell me you'd attack the Wild Kratts!" Zach snapped. "Ugh, I thought we were communicating."
"I didn't think you would need to know." Nora said. Her inflection was soft, light, weirdly sensual, which just freaked Martin out, even more so when she continued, as her voice became harsh and cackling, like she had transformed into a hag. "Oh well, I guess we'll just have to squash this one."
"Hey, I don't think that's necessary." He laughed nervously, his hands up in a defensive position.
"Oh, I don't do things that are necessary." She said. Suddenly, there was this humming noise, and sprouting from her back was the strangest thing he had ever seen. It was a massive plume of this shiny black liquid that moved and levitated unnaturally, almost like she was controlling it with her mind. "I do things that are fun."
Martin had the quick realization of that's the stuff Aviva showed us, she's the one who ripped off the leg, and she could probably easily rip me in half, and he turned and bolted. He could hear her laughing behind him.
Radio room, radio room, I have to find a radio room. He guessed it would be near the radio tower, so he sprinted in that general direction. Finally, he found it, nearly sliding right by it. He rushed in, locked the door, propped a chair up against it, and then quickly proceeded to the radio equipment. He skimmed the charts that were out on the table, which showed what frequency settings were needed for which base. Thankfully, the outpost he needed to reach was already calibrated for. He booted up the system, and began his call.
"Hello? Hello, is anyone there?"
"Привет?" Came back through.
"Hello? Can you hear me?"
"кто ты, что делаешь? этот аванпост должен быть пустым."
"You've got to help me! SOS, uh..." his heart was beating very fast, he was having a hard time focusing. "My aircraft crashed, at, uh..." he pulled out the map book, and opened to a page where Jimmy had scribbled their coordinates down. "73 2' 0.502" S, and, uh, 60 49' 6.567" W. People are injured, please hurry!"
"продолжай говорить! Я записываю это. Питер! найди Егора, он говорит по английски!" Martin also heard a faint "Я сделаю это!" From someone else.
The door began to be banged upon quite violently. "Hello, little boy, are you in here? Come out, come out!" He heard Nora taunt.
"We... we were attacked by two people, their names are Nora and Axel! They're here, outside, they're trying to get in, and, uh, there's also-"
The door was broken open so forcefully that the chair he had propped up was snapped into splinters. Before he could even turn or react, Martin was instantly grabbed from behind and pulled backwards by his feet, his chin slamming on the table and then on the floor.
A "Привет? Ты еще там? что происходит?" came from the now unattended radio box, and Martin, dazed, trying to get up, heard a loud crashing sound over him - when he looked up, he saw that the radio had been smashed to bits. Pieces of metal and plastic flew everywhere, with one sliver even smacking him in the eye.
He could feel a dense, heavy pressure wrapped around his ankles, and he was stuck in a position not unlike the top of a push-up, but that even was quickly lost, as he was engulfed to the shoulders and lifted up, his arms folded and pinned against his chest by that black stuff that flowed out of her.
"So, are you the only one who survived, or are there others?" She asked. Martin said nothing. "Oh well, you won't be a survivor for long."
The liquid's grasp became tighter and tighter, crushing him, god only knows how, Martin certainly didn't, all he could do was try to squirm and twist around until all the air had been squeezed from his lungs, the grip becoming more and more fierce with each panicked heartbeat that pounded inside him.
Zach was in the doorway. While he was not keen on watching a man get constricted to death, he certainly didn't care to stop it. He averted his eyes. "Goodbye, Martin." Was all he said.
But at the sound of his name, Nora stopped. She dropped her captive gasping onto the floor, and turned to face Zach.
"Wait... what did you say his name was again? Martin Kratt... of course, why didn't I put the pieces together?" Her black liquid disappeared, slipping into an opening in her coat.
Martin, in the split but crucial second where he was recovered, saw the opportunity he was presented and took it, tackling Nora and knocking her to the ground. This advantage was short-lived however, as Axel came up out of nowhere, and kicked Martin in the collar bone, throwing him off of her. He lay stunned out on the floor, and Nora, furious, re-summoned her arm of fluid and pinned him to the ground, enough so to keep him from moving, but not so much that he was being crushed again.
"Martin Kratt..." she hissed through her gritted teeth. "You have no clue how lucky you are. I would have pulverized you by now, were it not for my friend," she leaned in to whisper in his ear, "who knows you, and hates you, and is dying to see you again."
Martin had a witty response in his head, but when he tried to say it he just wordlessly wheezed, so his attempt at humor as a coping mechanism backfired, only making him even more distressed.
"This isn't a good idea." Axel said. "Just kill him now."
"But think of how much fun this is going to be." She protested.
"It's not worth it. We don't want another one of your side-projects to get in the way."
"Oh, you can keep going with your stuff. I'll take care of this." She smiled evilly.
The blackness moved up and covered his face, smothering him. He tried anew to wriggle away, but the grip was too tight, and all he accomplished was, in vain, using up that precious energy he had left, which faded fast. Martin blacked out.
.
.
.
Chris woke up to the sound of Koki's voice.
"What time is it? What time is it??"
Everyone else was stirring slowly, but she was bolted upright, searching around desperately. "Where's the timer? What time is it?"
Because the hangar was so dark, Chris did not have a good impression as to what time of the day it was. To him, to everyone, Koki was just anxious about her upcoming shift.
"Aw, man, I had just fallen asleep, too." Groaned Jimmy.
"Koki, relax, it's -" Aviva checked her watch and gasped. "Oh my god, it's 8:00 in the morning!"
Koki bolted up out of the pile. "Where's Martin? He should've woken me up four hours ago!" She sprinted towards the doors. Chris began to stir as well, starting to get up, but the dull aching in his chest that had persisted through the night suddenly flared up, more harshly and sharply than it had before. Chris began hacking and coughing, and Aviva assumed he had just started to panic.
"Chris! Chris, it's okay, just breathe slowly." She said. "He probably fell asleep or something."
"Out there in the cold!?" Chris cried. If he wasn't panicking before, he was now.
"Uh-" Aviva, realizing her mistake, turned to Jimmy. "Jimmy, could you go get us a paper bag?"
Before Jimmy could, Chris settled down.
"Good, that's great Chris. You're doing great." She said.
"I'm fine." Chris insisted, though the fear in his eyes said otherwise. Aviva was starting to agree with Martin, that perhaps Chris' injury was not something they could wait on.
Koki burst back inside. "Martin's gone!" She cried. "He's just...gone!"
"What?" Aviva rose. "Was he anywhere outside?"
"Not that I saw." Koki said. "I looked all around though, from the top of the Tortuga."
"Jimmy, help me up." Chris said through gritted teeth.
"What?" Said Jimmy.
"Help me up."
"I don't think that is a good idea." Jimmy said.
"Yeah, no, Chris, just stay there, okay? That's the best thing you can do." Said Aviva, turning back to face Chris.
"I can't!" He said. He tried to get up, but of course stopped, screamed, and fell back down, everyone rushing to his side, both to make sure he was okay, and prevent his second attempt at rising. "I can't, we... we have to find Martin!"
"We will, Chris." Aviva said sternly. "You can't do him any good like this. Just stay there."
"What if he got taken, what if he-" Chris began coughing again, but Aviva put her hand on his shoulder and shushed him until he slowed back down.
"Just stay here, okay?" She said. "Please. He wouldn't want you getting hurt either."
Chris nodded.
"We can search for him with Peregrine powers!" Koki said.
"Okay, Jimmy grab the feather." Aviva said.
"It's... not here." Said Jimmy.
"What?"
"The feather's gone."
"But where did...Martin!" Aviva turned from concerned to furious. "Martin, of all the half-witted, irresponsible - ugh!"
"Wait, you don't think he-" Koki said.
"I absolutely do." Said Aviva.
"What?" Asked Jimmy. "What did he do?"
"Martin went to get help. Alone. I should've known this would happen!"
"And he took the feather with him?" Koki asked.
"Maybe, I don't know." She said. "That doesn't seem like something he would do. We have to go find it, though!" Everyone nodded except for Chris.
Martin left. He really left. Was that what the dream was about? Was it even a dream at all?
Chris felt so helpless. Martin was out there somewhere, trying to save everyone, risking his own neck so thoroughly. There was the crew, with so little to do about it, still so desperate to make things right. And here was Chris, no good to anybody, because of that stupid, stupid broken rib. At least, that's what they told him, right? He had heard that broken ribs were pretty minor injuries, that they could even heal on their own, even if they would hurt like hell in the meantime. So, maybe it was up to him? Maybe if he gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain, he could actually do something, he could help, he could-
Chris moved a third time to stand up. It was the farthest he'd gotten so far, but without anyone to support him, and the jabbing pain making him lose control over his own movements, he bent over forward. Before anyone could turn around, rush to him, catch him, it was too late. Now Martin's fears were proven true as well.
Chris' broken rib had punctured his lung. He collapsed, gasping horribly and emptily for air. Everyone rushed to be around him, but their faces, their cries, he couldn't take in; everything blurred. All he heard, all he felt, was the grinding in his own chest, all he knew was hopeless groping for air.
Chris too blacked out.
