It Could Be Worse
Episode 19: The Fall of Villains. The Fall of Good Men.
By Sulia Serafine
[Story started: 3-16-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.
Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!
E-mail me at silverwLng@aol.com, okay?]
"Are we going to die?" Roald whispered. The other two men almost didn't hear him over the rumbling sound above. Their eyes were glued to the ceiling, waiting for whatever was to happen. The tension became so thick that Cleon would swear later on that it could have been cut with a knife. Sweat dotted the end of his nose. He tried to ignore it for the more importance of the thunderous noise, but the feel of that single drop became so distracting from their obviously serious situation that he finally wiped it on the back of his hand and made a face.
And then another possibility occurred to him. It was nothing. They were all being paranoid for nothing. He would've blushed if he weren't already flushed from exertion. The tall sharpshooter ran a clammy hand through his tousled red hair. "Guys, it's nothing at all. Here, let me see if I can pull this lever back."
"You had better. I don't want to spend the rest of eternity in this place," Faleron muttered, though he held no malice in his voice yet. "Are you sure there aren't any knobs on your side of the door? Anything?"
"I'm sure!" Cleon said in an irritated voice. "Ugh, it's starting to smell like rotten eggs in this musty place. You smell that?"
"Not really."
"Lucky you."
Roald, whose gaze had fixed on the ceiling, tugged anxiously on his friend's arm. Faleron turned to him. "Now what?"
"The ceiling… It's starting to get damp."
Faleron's eyes widened. His head jerked back to raise his eyes to where Roald was looking. Indeed, the ceiling was starting to look darker than it was before. These dark spots were only in the corners of the ceiling though. It glistened faintly from the flashlight that Cleon held on the other side. Faleron grabbed Roald's wrist, tapping the light on the pager. He then thrust Roald's arm toward the ceiling so he could have a better look.
"March that way, toward the other end and hold up the light," Faleron ordered.
Roald did as he was told, gulping nervously. "What does this mean?"
"Cleon! How is the ceiling above you?" the former thief called.
"Completely dry. Damn it! I can't get this lever thing to budge!"
"Can't you try to shoot it at an angle or something?"
"I only have four rounds left. Do you think I'm going to waste them on this stupid piece of metal sticking out of the floor?"
Faleron narrowed his eyes into slits. "If you don't--"
He didn't get a chance finish his sentence. Suddenly, the blocks of ceiling in the corners started to fall from their places. Each man held their collective breaths as the bits of dust and concrete started to crumble. And then, the blocks dropped down to the floor. There was a loud crashing sound as each hit the floor. They could feel the surface beneath them vibrate because of the strength of the blocks' fall. And then…
… The water came flooding in.
"Oh my God!" Roald cried as he got caught under a waterfall at the far end of the room. He stumbled out of the way, toward the center where Faleron had just gathered himself. The water came straight down in the four openings that were about a little less than two feet by two feet each. The cold crept around their ankles, soaking their shoes, socks, and pants legs.
Faleron limped sluggishly toward the door again. His ankle still hurt, but he'd have to ignore it if he wanted to live. The water was coming down so fast; it already reached halfway up his calf. Roald was crying out random phrases of bewilderment, turning around and around in the middle. At the same time, he searched with his eyes to find the source for the water of each hole. He saw nothing past the most common liquid of nature.
"Kennan. Do something," Faleron shouted as if his friend truly had the power to make the scene go away.
"I'm trying!" the sharpshooter snapped back, not liking the pressure he was given.
"Guys!" Roald shouted with a squeak at the end of the word. The vice president's son shook his head. He cleared his throat and called again. The incessant sound of water rushing around him and splashing him as it poured down made it hard for him to be heard by them.
Cleon now put his feet on each side of the lever. He crouched down, grabbed hold and braced himself for pulling. He gritted his teeth. "I can't get it to move!"
"Guys!" Roald yelled again. Faleron turned around to face him. There was a rare expression of anxiety present on the usually calm and collected face.
"We're working on it. Don't get hysterical!" In truth, he was telling himself not to become hysterical.
More cursing came from the dryer side of the door. "It's still not moving!"
Faleron started to shiver as the cold water level advanced to his waist. He grabbed onto the iron bars and yanked on them in desperation. He examined every little bit of the door's tiny window. His mind analyzed the situation within a split second. And it came to him. The room was only seven feet wide. The hole was not that far from the door. "Roald! Get over here!"
The vice president's son was pale as he approached. "Guys, I can't… I can't…"
"Can't what?" Faleron asked, not really caring what he had to say.
"I can't swim!" he blurted out. His hands skimmed the water that was now above his waist, soaking into his shirt. So much for dry cleaning, he thought. Mentally, he scolded himself and flung his attention at the flooding room.
The former thief couldn't believe his luck. He stared at the other young man for a moment, evaluating what he could do, and what could possibly happen. What was only two seconds afterward, he beckoned for him to come forward. He grabbed Roald's hands and folded them palm up one over the other. "Give me a boost. I'll put my other foot on the bars, and you hold me up by the other foot. I think I can grab the edge of that hole."
Cleon paused temporarily in his fruitless labor to listen in. "Are you crazy? You're only going to get soaked before the water even reaches your freaking shoulder!"
"Its already halfway up, Kennan. We're already soaked! Just do whatever you can," Faleron yelled back. This sparked a short period of yelling back and forth between the three men. Hysteria and panic was washing over them just like the mercilessness that rushed in from above. They were starting to get too annoyed with each other. The panic was killing their common sense. Roald held Faleron up while the lighter man used the barred window to his advantage. Pain shot through his ankle as he braced it against the door. His hands walked along the ceiling until they could brush against the pouring water.
"Move closer," he told Roald. His arm was already stretched out to the steady flow from above. "Damn, it's cold!"
"You're not the one still in the water!" the usually milder young man below retorted.
Faleron took a deep breath as he gripped the edge of the hole. Water started to run down along his arm, chilling him as it touched him, then let the air touch his skin after, making him even colder. He shivered. Then he pursed his lips. One day in the future, he wanted to say that he could react well under pressure. The fact that he still felt horrible about that family in Scanra only intensified his want to be courageous.
"Higher!" he yelled. Roald lifted Faleron's foot onto his shoulder. He winced under his friend's weight as the shoe heel dug into his shoulder bones. The water was up to his chest. Some of it started to go out the door opening to Cleon's side. But the rate at which the water filled the room was greater than the opening. And no matter how fast the water went out, they would soon drown.
"Cleon! If you don't do anything right now, we are going to die!" he screamed.
Faleron twisted his foot around, wrenching a cry of pain from his supporter.
"We are not going to die! I refuse to die in this fucking place!" he screamed angrily at the top of his lungs. Roald immediately shut up. Not even Cleon remembered a time when his usually charismatic and clever friend had used such a tone.
Clenching his teeth in determination still, Faleron pulled himself up by his arms into the hole. The flow of water drowned his head, making it almost impossible for him to twist away and breathe. His feet were practically dangling in the air since the frantic companion below was now holding a foot in each hand as he semi-supported him above his head.
Faleron held his breath. He couldn't do anything else. His grip on the edge of the hole was slipping. Why hadn't he been more attentive in Phys. Ed.? If he'd had the arm strength then, he could've pulled himself up by now and see if there was anything past the water.
Cleon now drew his gun, quickly calculating an aim at the lever for it to be thrown back. His chest heaved. This was so much worse than fighting in combat situations-- not that he'd even had much experience in those either.
"Oh, God," he groaned as he licked his chapped lips.
He fired. The switch was thrown back, and he could hear the bullet ricochet off it. It embedded itself in a wall. For a moment, Cleon smiled. He proudly straightened his posture. Than, he realized nothing had happened. The doors remained where they were. "It didn't work! Fal! Roald!"
The former thief was so close. He could feel something as he held onto his position with one hand while groping blindly through the opposing force of the water with the other. And then-- he grasped it. It felt like a thin pipe. Whatever it was, his hand curled around it and held on for dear life. But that only held half his thoughts. The other half of his mind couldn't stop thinking of air. He wanted to open his mouth and breathe so badly. But then, the water would rush in, and down his throat, and he'd drown while hanging from the ceiling.
Roald shouted up to him, hoping that he could hear him. But there was only a panicked kicking of Faleron's feet as he pulled himself up. Roald stood up on his tiptoes. The water level was up to his neck now, and he didn't like it one bit. He couldn't swim. They were really going to die. Images of bloated bodies floating in lakes he'd seen from horror movies covered the back of his mind where they would make their home until the day Roald learned how to swim.
Cleon, now wet from the overflow pouring in through the bars, screamed to his friends. All he could hear was rushing water, the clear liquid that brought life and death as well. He clung to the iron bars while the water splashed his chest as it made its way out in a steady fountain-like fashion.
It was air. That's all that Faleron knew as his head broke the surface of the water flow in what seemed like a huge air vent, except, it couldn't be-- for it ironically transported water. Pipes ran along the sides of this narrow passage. He crawled forward on his stomach with the rushing water up on his chin. There was something up ahead, some black box that seemed really important at his vantagepoint. Pipes ran from it, and there was a gauge in the upper left corner.
Absently, he wondered if Roald was still alive. The more water took up space; more air was constricted from the room. The other man could suffocate. That is, if it didn't already drown him. Faleron had to hurry. He stopped where he was and thought. He must be over Cleon's head at that time. Maybe if he could make enough noise…
The redhead in question looked up when he heard a thumping. He broke into relieved grin. "Fal! Is that you?"
His only response was more thumps that had no apparent pattern. How was he going to break that ceiling? Something moved in the corner of his eye. A hand stuck itself through the bars pleadingly and waved itself around. It was Roald. Even if Roald had wanted to stick his face in the opening, the exiting water blocked all of it. Cleon ran over and grasped his hand, assuring the other that he was here. There was no doubt now that Roald could very well be holding his breath.
So, the Tortallian sharpshooter did the only thing he could think of. He took aim with his free hand and began firing bullets into the ceiling.
Everything happened at once. The doors opened. Cleon lost hold of Roald as the door slid away, and the water from the other chamber now flooded both to him and through the other side of the death trap. The ceiling above Cleon started to crumble as a short circuiting black box fell to the ground, shooting out its last sparks. And then, more of the once sturdy ceiling gave way, and Faleron came crashing from above. He landed on Cleon, sending both of them to the floor where the water swept over them, and pushed them back as it emptied out of the chamber.
Roald gagged and choked. He spat up water and sucked in precious air while letting the flow take him out the room toward his friends. The three clung to the walls in exhaustion to keep from being washed away The panted hard. The water started to spread thin. It came down to their knees.
"I knew Thom said the tunnels had a security system, but this is downright ridiculous," Cleon huffed as he shook his head vigorously. Droplets flew from his wet red hair and splattered his companions.
"I thought I was going to die," Roald confessed quietly, ashamed that he'd been so scared. He knew that they would never hold it against him, but it did not erase his thoughts about it.
Faleron nodded, knowing the feeling. "It's okay." He looked past them, through the water chamber, and through the now open door on the far side. "We've got to keep moving. I wonder where the other door leads to."
A loud sound started up again, to their left where they had come from. They exchanged glances. Each one was too nervous to say aloud what they all were thinking in their heads that exact moment. And then, they started to run. It was an awkward sprint through the water death trap since it was still relatively high. Like little children, they disgracefully splashed around in their fleeing. The wet clothes weighed them down despite their efforts. Personally, Roald's limbs felt like lead. They had to get to the other door before it was too late.
Water started to rush down the tunnel as a lethal force threatening to kill them. Cleon, at the back of the line, looked over his shoulder. All he could see was white foam and all he could hear was the sound of his impending doom. It filled the whole tunnel, coming rapidly at them with a mind of its own.
"What is this? An Indiana Jones movie? Damn it!" he shouted at the top of his lungs just as the water overtook them. They were sucked into the moving current. It threw them through the other door, not caring for when one of them smacked into the floor or the wall. They struggled to breathe. Their heads barely broke the surface to taste the air they craved, and then they were taken back into the flowing force again.
This went on forever. Roald had swallowed a lot, and his chest hurt. Faleron angrily thrashed around when he hit the wall, trying to push off of it with his hands. Cleon made a short try at kicking with his legs to propel him up to the surface. But to no avail, he only reached it once, and then he was shoved back down.
The tunnel ended. The three were flung out into open air for a few split seconds of zero gravity before they plummeted down like rocks toward the pool of water that waited below. Cleon flailed his arms and legs wildly, as if he wanted to fly. Faleron braced himself with his arms over his head while Roald shut his eyes tightly and coughed in mid air from the water going down his windpipe.
Then they dropped into the pool. A huge splash reached halfway up their falling path. Faleron recovered first. He darted forward underwater. True, his injured ankle limited his swimming, but he could make it if he tried. His strength was focused upon his arms again. He knew Roald could not swim and had to find him before it was too late. Cautiously, he blinked open his eyes, hating the strange sensation on the surface of his that it always left him. He spotted Roald, tiny bubbles of air escaping his mouth as he moved in a scared sea dance. He swam over and looped one arm around Roald's chest, holding the other man to him like he'd seen in those sea-rescue movies, and started to surface.
Cleon did not know that Roald's drowning had been averted. His blurry vision scoured the waters' depths for any human-like form. All he could see was aqua blue-- an endless world of aqua blue. Where did that light come from? The water glowed as if it were lit from below. That was impossible. It had to be his mind playing tricks. The lack of oxygen was making him crazy. He was about to go up when he saw a shadow of something move. He swam forward though his limbs ached and his lungs burned.
He approached even closer and closer. It had to be one of his friends.
As he came within five feet of the shadow, he saw it clear for what it was. It was a female humanoid creature with seemingly sleek light blue skin and fins all around her body. They were on her limbs, on her neck, at the side of her head. Gill slits were each on one side of her body where her ribs should have shown through if she were skinny enough. She had no hair, but freckles across her skin, covering her head where her hair should have been. The creature's eyes were a distinct gold that gave off its own light. His first reaction was his hoping it was female, whatever it was. Female creatures were generally more docile, weren't they? And then his second reaction--
He screamed, all the air escaping his mouth in large bubbles. Before water could enter his mouth and force its way into his lungs, he clamped his mouth shut. The scared-out-of-his-mind redhead made a rushed swim for the surface. He could see it not too far up. His hair drifted over his eyes, but he kept swimming straight up until he got to air.
Precious oxygen was inhaled into his deprived lungs as he took his first few breaths. Faleron and Roald were floating at the edge of the pool, relieved to see him finally. They meant to talk to him, but Cleon's next action sent silence between them.
"HOLY SHIT! What the hell was that thing down there?"
The water cascading down from the tunnel's opening above twenty feet was the only sound at all. In that time, they respectively stared at each other in complete perplexity and shock.
"What… what thing?" Faleron asked. He let Roald climb out onto the rock perimeter of the pool. The place they had landed in was a forest underground. Except, there was painted concrete ceiling, and walls he could see in the distance. There was artificial sunlight in the distance, casting shadows from the tall trees. It was a fake park of some sort-- or a habitat.
"Habitat," he let the word echo aloud. "Th-thing… underwater?"
Ten feet away from Cleon, the female looking creature with her human shape but odd appearance emerged. She treaded water effortlessly, as it came natural to her. A series of high-pitched squeaks and whistles came from her. She sounded like a dolphin.
"H-help," Cleon shrieked. His eyes were wide with fear. "Oh, my God! Help!"
The blue finned thing ducked down into the water, frightened of his cries. The redhead swam for the edge of the pool, making a mess of it. Faleron bent down to offer a helping hand. Cleon took it and pulled himself up.
"Did you see it? What the hell! Oh my--"
"Calm down," Faleron said, raising his voice so it was louder than Cleon's voice. "She's more scared of you than you of are her." He paused. "I think that's how the saying goes."
Cleon ran a hand through his messy hair, letting himself drip all over his friends while he gawked at the humanoid creature floating at the far end observing them with her wide gold eyes-- not just the irises, but her entire eyes.
Roald's mouth formed a little O. "Is that an Immortal?"
"What else could it be?" Faleron replied. Their voices were reduced to awed whispers.
"She's actually kind of pretty," Cleon said after a few moments, when the initial surprise had worn off. The three young men huddled together, talking in hushed murmurs about the creature in the water. They gaped at everything around them. It was like one of those fake forests inside a museum, except this one…
"This place could house other Immortals," Faleron suggested. He stepped off the rocky ledge surrounding the artificial pool. "We have to find a way out of here."
As they stepped further away from the water, more aqua creatures surfaced, accompanying the first female one. They all floated just so their noses and eyes were visible. Together, the strange but beautiful beings stared at the three men with piercing, curious eyes. One of them, a male, came up a little closer and started making a sound that resembled a barking seal. There was a golden crest upon his head that was not upon the others.
"Er, I think he wants us to scram," Cleon said. The others nodded. They quickly made their way into the forest with Faleron limping along with the aide of Cleon, leaving the sea people behind.
~~
Jonathan slid through the narrow passageway. He sucked in his stomach and thought distractedly, "I must have gained some weight since I last went through here." He let out a deep breath when he made it through the juncture and reached down to open the sealed door on the floor that went down into the lab. He couldn't risk going through the main entrance. Ozorne probably had that covered.
Ozorne.
"That guy is really, really asking for it," he muttered, surprising himself with his biased attitude. He'd never really met Ozorne Tasikhe in person, but from what he'd heard, he wouldn't like him. And that actually suited Jonathan fine. He was growing a little too stressed for diplomacy-- what with the attack on his home and the center of the government.
He climbed down the entrance, one foot on each rung of the ladder. As soon as he was completely in, he reached up and closed the door. Then he went further down into the darkness.
After exactly thirty seconds of descending, Jonathan heard noises. They sounded like a combination of many things. Monkeys or a chimp screeching their uncomfortable status… horses neighing and snorting… birds squawking angrily. The noise hurt his ears, but he continued down until he reached the far corner of the proper lab.
The large underground laboratory was lined with different strange equipment. Cages, large and small, were stacked everywhere, hanging from the ceiling or one atop the other in the corner. In the center was a six feet by six feet counter with a movable light fixture above it. There were hoses and pipes running to and from different parts of the room. Random tools were scattered about, as well as files of plastic sheets, containing information.
His group of scientists was knocked unconscious, tied up or thrown into cages. Some were bleeding from the head, bludgeoned by some terrible object, no doubt the butts of rifles. Their once immaculate white lab coats were soiled. Glasses of a few were cracked and broken. Among these men and women, he saw Numair and Daine both knocked out cold and bound hand and foot with handcuffs and rope.
"I can't believe this," he thought to himself. The poor men were suffering.
The only conscious man was not another scientist. He was Ozorne Tasikhe, sitting at a computer beside a cage with a large bird in it. It was a waterfowl, a pelican to be exact. Its beak was black, and its eyes were red. The wings were longer than usual, and there were metallic parts surrounding the bird's neck.
It was not an unusual appearance for the animal. The parts around its neck actually helped it-- although Jonathan forgot at that moment exactly why. His concentration was on what Ozorne was doing to it. As the rebel leader typed, the blinking light around the pelican's neck was blinking even faster, than slower.
"He doesn't know what he's doing!" he thought furiously. Forgetting where he was, he leaned forward a bit more to see what else was going on.
Ozorne froze. He turned away from the computer, swirling around in the office chair. His lips curled into a thin smile. He pressed the buttons on the cage. The door swung open and the pelican gratefully flew out. He started opening random cages, with all the animals scrambling out to run free in the lab.
The president couldn't believe what was happening. Then he saw it. Ozorne held up his shotgun. He aimed above Jonathan's head (could he see Jonathan?) and fired a shot. Plaster and bits of concrete rained down onto the floor in front of him. He gasped, and fell backwards onto his butt.
"Haha! Ah, Mr. President. Had a good day?"
"Not really," he replied, glaring at him.
"Hmm… Well, I'm having a wonderful day. Too bad you won't get to see the end of it." He raised his shotgun and aimed straight at Jonathan's head. This was it. The good guy was going to lose to the bad guy. The unarmed man against the power-hungry beast. In his opinion, it could not get any worse.
He was about to meet his death when so many things were left undone. His wife and he were childless. His treaties across the ocean were not finished. Those city improvements in the Carthakian slums that he'd so looked forward to-- never to be started. Who would be elected after him? Would anyone be elected at all or would Ozorne run the show?
His mouth became dry, and his throat parched.
"Any last words?"
Jonathan blinked, sweat running between his shoulder blades where he couldn't reach. "Yeah."
"And what's that?"
"Behind you."
Ozorne paused a moment before bursting into laughter. "Nice one! You can't fool me, you dumb son of a b--"
His words were halted when a sharp blade had pierced his back and protruded through to his chest. The dark skinned man looked down in disbelief at the long bloody knife--more like a short sword-- that stuck through him like a chicken on a rack. He gurgled up dark blood, letting it sloppily drip down his chin before his knees buckled beneath him and he fell dead.
Jonathan held his breath. The shotgun was not that far away from his hand. He could pry it from Ozorne's still warm fingers, but the corpse horrified him beyond description.
The slayer of the infamous rebel leader stood unfazed behind the corpse. The person casually yanked the knife from Ozorne's back and wiped it clean on the back of the shirt where blood had yet to soak into. Then this mysterious figure tucked it into a sheath in their jacket away from sight and picked up the shotgun, shaking it out of the corpse's death grasp.
"Are you injured?"
He numbly shook his head. It was not one of his most articulate moments.
"Good." Then the person jerked their head toward the main entrance to the lab. Narrowing their eyes in annoyance and irritation, they dashed out the other way toward the Immortal habitats.
The black beaked pelican landed in front of Jonathan and started squawking loudly at him, poking him in the chest. He did his best to ignore it, wondering what caused his rescuer to flee.
"Jon! It's us!" Alanna shouted as she and Thom skidded into the room. They first grinned when they saw him alive and well. When Ozorne's body came into few, grim attitudes conquered them. His advisor spoke again first. "So, he's dead. I guess that brings this whole disaster to its end."
He wobbly got to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You did not tell me that George brought in K. J.! You're supposed to tell me these things!"
"Please, calm down, sir. Have a seat," Thom soothed as he went to bring over the office chair Ozorne had been sitting on minutes ago. A green furred monkey with an extremely long tail that was encircled with metal rings at different intervals squatted on the chair. Thom thought for a moment, then reached into his pocket for one of Jump's snacks that he kept with him always. The animal sniffed it suspiciously before snatching it and bounding away, screeching still.
Thom wheeled over the chair. Jonathan stared at the scientist in profound wonder. "And when did you get here?"
"Roger brought him," Alanna answered in place of her brother.
"R-roger?" Jonathan croaked. "My cousin's here?" His face turned sickly pale, despite his tanned skin.
The animals, not liking being ignored, started to throw things at them. The birds made vicious sounds while flapping their wings. The felines hissed and the canines barked. The three conscious humans backed into a corner. Alanna got her stun gun from her belt and set it onto the lowest setting. "Thom! What's going on?"
The Wizard searched his mind for the reason. "It's… it's the hormone imbalance! Common, less evolved Immortals have naturally violent or hurtful behavior that is dulled when we correct their hormone imbalances. Ozorne must have messed with the chemical regulators before we got down here."
Alanna took her brother's jacket from him and waved it around, hoping to ward away the animals. The last thing she wanted to do was harm them. The government had spent so much time on them. Everything would go to waste if she hurt them now. It was especially hard at that time to keep a cool head when they were being such pains.
"Isn't there anything we can do?"
He was about to reply when he tripped on something while backing up. It was a cage door that lowered like a drawbridge. He tumbled inside the large metal barred cage where one of the lager primates Immortals had been kept. Alanna went in to help him up, but Jonathan wisely stayed out.
And then, the black beaked pelican squawked and hit the button on the computer that controlled the cages. The cage door beneath him lifted up and threw him onto the floor as he cried out. The bird flew over and pecked at them through the bars tauntingly before flying out the exit to the higher level Immortals' habitats. Soon, the rest followed, leaving three of the most powerful people in Tortall locked in the lab.
"Now I know George will never let me live this down," Alanna muttered.
~~
Elsewhere, at the same time that Ozorne discovered Jonathan, three people had trekked down a dark path.
"Just how many secret passages are there in this stupid place?" Lalasa breathed.
"Dozens. Tens of dozens probably," Owen answered, a little impressed himself. They followed Keladry down the narrow, low ceiling tunnel. It was quiet except for the shuffling of their feet. And it was also dark except for the light from Kel and Owen's pagers, which weren't all that bright anyway.
They went along for another ten minutes when Keladry met with a solid wall. "A dead end?"
"It can't be! After this whole time, we've got nowhere to go?" Lalasa growled. "Come on! There has to be some… some secret panel. Feel the walls. Maybe there is a switch or a button."
The three explored the walls with their fingers, touching every crevice and nook there was to be had. Owen got on hands and knees inspecting the dirt packed floor to no avail. They found nothing. And so, they lingered around in the space, disappointed in all their efforts.
"It's not fair!" Owen said in a sudden burst of immaturity. He stomped his foot down. He felt something give way beneath him. He gulped. "K-kel…"
Before they could react, the dirt beneath gave way. They heard wooden floorboards snap as they slid into a twisting metal chute. Lalasa screamed at the top of her longs while the other two came close to matching her deafening cries. She was in front, a blur of light and darkness going past her as they slid further and further down on their backs.
"AH!" she screamed again, after taking a breath. "Kel! Help!"
Her backside burned from the friction and each of the little divisions between chute sections that were speed bumps to her tailbone. She was twisted onto her side when the slick chute turned sharply. For a brief nanosecond, she had the urge to throw her arms up over her head and say "whee!" but it just wasn't appropriate.
It was definitely not a water slide. Or, rather, maybe the water came later…
"Oh help me!" she screamed, tilting her head back a moment to see Owen's boot-clad feet a few yards up. There was a sudden dip that caused her head to jerk back in whiplash, and then bang on the metal. She shut her eyes tightly and bit her lip to stifle any more shrieks she may emit.
Then she was flung into the air for a brief two seconds before hitting the ground and rolling down an artificial slope of dirt. She curled up into a ball, hoping not to break any bones. As the slope evened out, her speed did not and she crashed into someone and tackled him or her to the ground as well. Lalasa blinked open her eyes. A familiar face looked bewildered at her as she sat up.
"Roald!" all her ailments were forgotten as she embraced him and hugged him tight. Roald, still reeling from the impact, just let her latch onto him while he cleared his spinning head.
"Ugh… La…Lalasa? What the…"
"Watch out!" Owen and Keladry both shouted as they flew out of the hidden chute at a faster velocity than Lalasa had and flew down half the slope before hitting the ground at the bottom and colliding with Cleon. He never had a chance. The redhead was bulldozed down. Both persons landed on him.
Keladry groaned. She grabbed the sides of her head. Unfortunately, she could not roll off whomever she was on top of because in fact, she was pinned between two people. "Owen! Get off!"
"Both of you get off!" Cleon demanded. "You're crushing me! I can't move!"
The curly haired DJPF officer scrambled off of them. He helped Keladry up, who turned to help Cleon up. He waved her off and stood up by himself, although he gingerly touched the base of his back in obvious discomfort.
"Where the hell did you three come from?" Faleron asked, having successfully avoided being trampled to the ground by them. He walked up so he was face to face with Keladry. Behind him, Cleon was complaining about how the dirt stuck to his wet clothing. But Roald complained none as he still held Lalasa in his arms.
"Don't ask," Keladry mumbled grouchily, noting a slight limp from the former thief. She remembered her self training and put on an impassive mask to show she wasn't bothered, which really did not help since they'd all heard her attitude before. She sighed. "Owen, do you have the bag?"
"Right here," he said proudly and held it up. Cleon and Faleron dove towards it first, grabbing the first objects that they touched and tucking them into their belts. Cleon took a smaller knife and slid it into the side of his boot. Each of their faces had lit up considerably.
Lalasa rolled her eyes. "Boys will be boys."
"So what's happening with Ozorne and Roger?" Faleron asked as he put some extra magazines in his pocket.
"Ozorne was in the main part of the lab, last I heard," Lalasa answered. "That was before we shoved tied up Vinson and threw him in the closet, I think."
Cleon frowned. "So he's already reached the Immortals? We have to find a way out of here!"
Keladry froze. Her intuition told her someone was watching them. She held up her hand to silence the chatter. She beckoned for the sharpshooter to approach her. She whispered something in Cleon's ear, glancing warily at the trees that surrounded them. He nodded.
"What's wrong?" Roald asked in a stage whisper.
"Shh," she held up a finger to her lips. Everyone stood still, merely listening to the environment around.
Quicker than a flash of lightning, Cleon drew his gun and fired up at a tree branch. He hit his mark without fail and the branch dropped to the ground, destroying the cover for the spy that had watched them. The latter of them held in their breaths as the shadow stepped forward.
It was revealed to be a woman. She had brown black hair and creamy skin that was just so familiar…
"The acrobat! The one with the big…" he froze. "Er, eyes."
She was now dressed in all black, pants and jacket. Her hair was tied back and covered with a gaudy knit cap while her hands were covered with gloves. She casually held a shotgun against one shoulder. A bag strap crossed her chest, and the bag itself hung on her back. A loose belt fell to her hips where bungee cord and other random tools were clipped.
"Ah, the guy who was staring at my chest," she replied in a voice that was not like the leotard girl of before. In fact, her voice seemed full of mocking insult.
Owen, Keladry, and Lalasa looked back and forth between the two. Keladry stepped in between them. "You know each other?"
"You were posing as one of those girls!" Cleon exclaimed.
"Ah. So he has a brain after all," she said with a yawn. Her devious smile reminded him of the Cheshire cat in Alice In Wonderland, playing with his head.
Roald couldn't help but feel some similarity between himself and the newcomer. Not in behavior, but maybe appearance. He reached up and felt his own nose, his own cheekbones. No, it was crazy. He didn't even know her name.
"Who are you?" Keladry asked in a suspicious tone.
"Those who know my existence do not speak my name. They go by initials," the woman said with an air of dangerous superiority. "Those who live anyhow."
"And those would be…?"
"If you must know, K.J. If I'm not mistaken, you are," she pulled back her sleeve to reveal a pager on her wrist. Except this one was crafted different from theirs. It was thinner and covered the length of her forearm like an arm guard. "Ah, yes. Keladry Mindelan and Cleon Kennan, former DJPF officers of Tortall, District B. Wanted for the kidnapping of," she turned to Roald, "Roald Jasson, son of Vice President Jasson. Mindelan and Kennan are also now standing accused of working for Ozorne Tasikhe. Which brings me to…" She took a step to face Lalasa. "Lalasa Isran, daughter of Ozorne Tasikhe, the rebel leader. If found, to be apprehended for questioning." She caught her breath. Her eyes finally rested on Faleron. "Faleron King, wanted overseas in Scanra for the supposed murder of the Gower family numbering three people, plus one burglar, suspected to be King's partner. Oh, and the longtime theft in Rogue's Bay."
She frowned when she saw Owen. "Owen Jesslaw, a current DJPF officer about to be demoted… definitely now to be discharged for being found among all these criminals. Ah, this ought to bring in a sizable bounty."
Cleon was turning red with anger. "Who the fuck are you?"
"K.J.," she answered. "I already told you that."
Keladry aimed her gun at K.J. 's head. "I think you should leave."
The black clad woman smiled. "Oh, but who else will show you the way out of this confusing place? I'm sure you don't know what Immortals to avoid or which will aid you."
"And you do?" Faleron sarcastically asked.
"Why, yes."
He folded his arms. "We can find our own way out."
She laughed derisively before turning her back and walking away. She called over her shoulders. "Then do be careful of the spidren enclosure. Oh! And keep the ladies away from the Minotaurs and savage unicorns, you hear? I think they're on the loose. And heaven forbid you should run into a Coldfang!"
They all exchanged glances with each other, not sure of what to do. And then, Cleon decided for them.
"Hey! Miss! We're sorry! Please, wait up!" he shouted and ran after her. "I promise I won't stare at your chest! That was totally wrong of me! I apologize, really, I do!"
~~
Alanna shushed her brother. "I think I hear something." She held out her guns through the metal bars. "Here! Jon, take these. You'll need them. I can't fight in here and you can't figure out how to unlock the cage."
He nodded and accepted the weapons.
"Go hide," Thom instructed. He thought for a moment. "Let's pretend to be unconscious. Just until we find out who's entering."
She nodded. They lied down on the bottom of the cage in cramped positions while the main doors opened from a descending staircase. Roger and Joren entered. Neither walked very close to the other. There was actually a cloud of contempt that hung over them.
"Ah. So the President's advisor is here," Roger snickered, eyeing her prone form. His smile disappeared. "Thom? What is he doing in there? That stupid fool; I bet he switched sides-- that ingrate!" He turned to face Joren. "Well, don't just stand there. Come here and kill him. I'm not going to waste my own bullets on him."
Joren reluctantly came forward, but as he did, Ozorne's body came into his range of vision. "Tasikhe?"
Roger shoved past him to see. His lips were pursed, and his brows furrowed. "Who did this?"
The black sheep of the Conté family approached the cage that Alanna and Thom were trapped in. He rudely started kicking and shouting at the cage, rousing the twins from their fake sleep. Both put on a decent, believable act for him to believe. He cared none, and immediately got to the point.
"Who did this? And who put you in there?"
Alanna glared at him defiantly and spoke nothing. Thom sheepishly looked away, afraid that his eyes would reveal the truth to him.
"I did."
Roger and Joren spun around. Jonathan boldly pointed a gun at Roger with both hands. His face was set serious, but his trembling hands translated into something weaker. The twins inside the cage grasped the metal bars and leaned into them until their noses were the only things peeking out.
"Idiot," Alanna whispered. "He's the president, not the DJPF!"
Thom nodded. "He's done for."
Joren watched Roger more than he did Jonathan. He knew the President had limited training in firearms. The jealous cousin was a completely different story. But the blonde had not seen many of Roger's skills as of yet. He could not guess nor read his opponent's course of action.
And besides, he didn't believe for a second that Jonathan Conté killed Ozorne Tasikhe.
"He's mine, Father!" Vinson yelled as he came down the stairs, shooting at Jonathan crazily. Jonathan cried out in pain when a bullet skimmed the side of his head. He fell to the floor, in a daze, pressing his palm against the wound to keep from bleeding.
The reaction was instant. Joren sprung forward with one arm outstretched, aiming for his target. Vinson stepped onto the lab floor with the wrong foot, turning one way instead of the other. Roger kept back out of range watching the spectacle in front of him with enraptured attention.
Joren fired off three rounds. One of which struck Vinson's ankle, while the other two hit their mark true-- one in the stomach, and the other in the chest. Vinson tottered on his feet for a moment. His face contorted in rage, then torture as he fell to the ground like a falling tree. Blood pooled onto the floor. The body went through tiny spasms as it died. It was then that Joren noticed that there were red marks on his wrists as if he had been tied up very tightly. He brushed the thought away from his mind and concentrated on they dying man.
He'd taken lives. This was nothing new. So why did it feel so different?
"He…" Alanna shook her head slowly, staring at Vinson's body. She started to focus upon Joren, wondering how a youthful person as himself could do it so smoothly. She'd always avoided killing when she had to. This man… "That man, no, he's a boy… barely adult," she whispered to herself. She tugged on her brother's arm like she did when they were children. "Did you see that?"
He nodded. An odd silence hung about the whole entire laboratory. Smoke wafted up from the barrel of Joren's gun as he lowered his arm to his side. As an afterthought, he raised it to his lips, blew off the smoke, and holstered it again. Then he turned to his victim's father, no emotion on his face.
How could a person be so remorseless? The question dominated Jonathan's thoughts as he gazed eight feet away on the floor to meet Vinson's glassy, placid eyes. He shuddered inwardly. So the blonde man had saved his life. He had taken another to do it, and that seemed so wrong, and yet, what else could have been done? "You, what is your name?" he said with a cracked voice. "Who…"
The crimson blood spread out on the plain white tile floor. It felt surreal, like this was a movie. A director would come down the stairs through the main doors any minute then and command Vinson to get up and redo the scene. Or, he would command Joren to have some more heart and not shoot him the next time.
There were no second chances. One roll of film. Whatever they did went onto the screen. That was the final cut.
Roger did nothing. He cocked his head to one side, to meet his son's lifeless eyes. There was no sense of loss for him. Anger never appeared, although he thought it would. That was every parent's reaction, wasn't it? But Vinson had not been the best of sons, nor Roger the best of fathers. So there was not any fury within the deadly mastermind to unleash upon Joren. Ironically, only one thought came to his mind. And it wasn't even that compassionate.
"The brat borrowed my shirt without telling me."
Heads turned away from the fallen man to his father. They could not fathom the depth of Roger's heartlessness.
"For goodness' sake," Thom mumbled, a hand covering his mouth as he shut his eyes tightly. "Roger… your son…"
"Oh, shut up, Thom. You disliked him as much as I did," Roger snapped.
"Roger!" Thom yelled, suddenly finding the courage to stand up to his supposed 'friend'.
Roger turned and glared so hard at the scientist that he backed down, lowering his gaze to his lap. Courage fled. He then faced Joren. "And you. I don't know what to say to you." He paused and laughed. "You made such a mess."
The blonde turned his back on him at once. Joren threw up his mental barriers very quickly, but this man knew the weak spots. His stance faltered imperceptibly. The stocky older man was perhaps the only one who could tell. It was not that Joren enjoyed killing. It was his job to do whatever it took to ensure the most safety to all or the majority. The threat was to be eliminated without question.
Ethics and morals were strict, yes, but Joren's sense of duty was even more so. He protected the president. Just like a bodyguard, he terminated the distinct threat to Jonathan Conté and recovered as quickly as possible. Now, he just had to decide whether he would still play on Roger's side or Jonathan's. People died every day. There was no use fighting that.
Vinson Genlith allowed himself to be influenced by his father. He chose his path. What happened after were not anyone's fault but his own. Whether or not he would be buried or cremated was not Joren's concern. And it definitely would not be any of Joren's concern if he were mourned or not. Who would grieve? The mother that sent him to Roger?
Joren closed his eyes and cleared his mind. This was not his first kill. And it would probably not be his last. It was done in defense, and not cold blood. Anyone who said any different would be a liar. The only reason this felt different was because Roger was there. Roger, who probably did not care…? Joren let out a deep breath and opened his eyes.
And then he was shot.
He looked down at his belly where blood poured out a little bit off to the right. Perhaps near his liver. It was so dark, his blood. And some of it splattered on the floor. This was a little lighter red. No matter-- he could feel the pain instantly, starting at his wound and spreading across his torso like wildfire.
Fire. Nothing could hurt worse than being burned alive, no; this was nothing like his childhood. The pain was nowhere near as agonizing. And besides, he'd been shot before.
He fell to the floor. His mind was wide-awake, alert of the world around him. But his body could never match that. His breathing slowed. His hearing dulled. He could hear Jonathan and Alanna call to him, and Thom curling up away in the corner of the cage, starting to hyperventilate in fear of his fate.
This could not be death. It could not possibly feel like this. Wasn't it supposed to be dramatic and agonizing? Yet, he found a severe serenity that would not leave him. The peacefulness was overwhelming. It filled his entire head, made him feel light. It was the exact opposite. It was setting him free.
The tile was cold. That stood out as one of the main sensations besides the dull throbbing of his belly. The pain was only second to everything else. Why, he could not figure out. The tile cooled his warm cheek. But his hands were already cold, even in their gloves. His breathing was shallow. The beating of his heart was becoming faint. Why was his vision getting so dim? And why wasn't it bothering him? Ah, that was right. He'd already accepted death when he left Galla. Wherever he went, he would accept any death, as long as it suited him.
He summoned all his strength to lift his head and squint.
Roger stood above him, smiling. So the man did care enough for Vinson to take revenge. Joren's head dropped exhaustedly back onto the floor. The last conscious thought he had was the shock that he'd let someone get the best of him.
"Oh, God," Jonathan whispered, still clutching the side of his head while on the floor. Blood trickled past his eyebrow and into his eye. He blinked it away and started to sit up. "Roger! Cousin!"
"Don't 'cousin' me, Jon," the older man threatened. He turned Joren onto his back while he left his son where he was. The blonde had yet to die. Or perhaps he was already dead. Roger did not care. He held him under the arms and started dragging him toward the entrance to the habitats.
Alanna stood up, gripping the cage bars even tighter. "Where the hell do you think you're going? When I get out of here, I'll make you wish you'd never been born!"
Roger stopped where he was, almost grinning. "You're not the only one, Miss Trebond." He called over to her brother. "And Thom, good friend, I thank you for telling me about the Immortals' genetic structure and all that wonderful knowledge. I think I've got a good experiment in mind to make the greatest army this universe has ever known…"
"Army… That's what this was?" Jonathan cried, getting to his feet. "You and Ozorne wanted to use them for an army!"
"Why, didn't you?" Roger pouted insultingly.
"Son of a bitch," he swore. He grabbed the dropped Desert Eagle that belonged to Joren and was about to fire it at his cousin, when Roger beat him to it and squeezed off two bullets-- one that hit the President in the thigh and the other in the shin of that same leg. Jonathan fell to the floor with a thud, writhing in pain. His advisor spoke to him, telling him to calm down and bear the pain while clenching the bars even tighter so her knuckles were white.
Thom stared moist eyed at the retreating form of the man dragging the blonde into the forest greens. He shook his head regrettably and looked up at his sister. "It's hopeless, Al. Who can help us now?"
~~
Author's notes:
Hmm… Cliffhanger again? I imagine there is a good number of you folks who want to shoot me. But, we're coming up to the end. Twenty-one episodes, and that's the end of Season 1. I'd love to hear what you thought of this episode, and the one before it, if you haven't reviewed that already.
As for the demand of Joren/Keladry stuff: you must understand that this story is categorized under Action/Adventure for a reason. Romance will exist. And it won't be too far away. You just have to be patient. Good stuff like that should never be rushed, or it just erases the whole realistic element. You see? Well, that's my opinion anyway. And I can't wait to hear yours. Until next…
Oh! Almost forgot. Yes, the opening scene was partly inspired by Indiana Jones, the Temple of Doom. I do not own the rights to that movie. It's obvious. But I dearly care for all Indiana Jones movies and James Bond movies, so as all of you who have already commented to me that you see it in here, yes, I'd call it influence. Bye, folks.