"Concentrate you on the middle
Of this one way ride.."
--Hooverphonic
"There's a man who leads a life of danger
To everyone he meets he stays a stranger
With every move he makes
Another chance he takes
Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow--
Secret Agent Man!
Secret Agent Man!"
--P.F. Sloan and Steve Barri
For When You Return
Part XIX
The shadows of Esthar stretched and warped behind the buildings that they clung to as the sun lolled over and down into the womb that was the horizon. The darkness thickened and swallowed everything up into grey until, after that brief moment of transition, the streetlights flickered and lifted, warmly filling the streets with dim artificial light.
Not a soul was out in the industrial area of the city. It was hard to imagine that, only a few blocks down, people milled about cheerfully in the entertainment district, having no idea that the soldiers among them were the enemy. The uniformed men walked about, a few stood watch on a corner here and there, and they were all the more sinister because of the laughter and oblivion that was all around them. No one was aware that the Estharian officers were actually Galbadians in disguise.
The guards near the communications tower were a little more ominous. There was still a bored tilt to their heads, a casualness to the way they held their firearms that suggested great confidence. It was as if they didn't know -- or didn't care -- that they were close to the entrance to the city, that they were in an area where an attack would come first. It was as if they sincerely felt no need for any sort of caution.
Irvine Kinneas watched this from afar, and felt a slight tingle sink into his belly and latch tight there. Sure, there were foolish enemies out there, he'd seen his share of them. But this was the Galbadian army, and they were in the process of taking over an important city. Even a child would expect some sort of opposition, no matter how sly the act... and yet the sentries that he snuck by seemed more concerned with watching for wayward citizens than an enemy, as if they were from the village police rather than an actual military.
"Sheesh." Zell was right behind him, looking prim and formal where he crouched in his Galbadian gear. They were hidden in an alleyway between two buildings. Irvine, who was standing upright in the shadows, looked away from the guard that he was watching and down at him.
"Man," Zell continued. "Are we in enemy territory or a nursing home?"
"I dunno," Irvine said. "It's weird...I don't like it." Ignoring the snort that came from Zell's direction, he craned his head to look at the communications tower looming up in the near distance. A single red light, tiny and obscure, blinked ominously. Tightening his mouth, he shouldered his rifle. "Let's just hurry up and get this over with."
"Yeah, yeah," Zell said. "By the time that Grandpa Galbadia gets his dentures in and notices that we're here, we'll be retired ourselves back in Balamb."
"Yeah, well -- the thing is that they're not -supposed- to know that we're here, alright? And if these really -are- Galbadian soldiers, we need to keep it that way. Understand?"
Zell, standing upright, put his fingers to his head in a stiff salute. "Sir! Yes sir! I forgot that I must follow your example! Inserting stick up ass now, Sir! "
"Are you a SeeD or a walking death wish?" Irvine muttered. And Zell would have retorted, but the sentry had moved and Irvine took the opportunity to rush across the street, keeping watch and managing a pace that, if stumbled upon, they could be mistaken for soldiers on call. However, he worked hard not to be noticed. Zell, sobering a little, took up his blaster and followed.
The street that the tower was on was vacant. The pair slowed their pace as they approached, alternating between looking up at the structure and looking around for any opposition. The night, starry and vibrant against the sparsely lit street, shone coldly upon them. Zell wet his lips, and then started when he looked over to see Irvine removing his helmet and setting it by his feet, before unbuttoning the topcoat of his uniform.
"What in the hell are you doing?"
"This stuff is heavy," Irvine said. "I can't climb in that."
"Who said you were climbing?"
"Who said I wasn't?"
"-I- want to climb," Zell said.
"You just want to pick a fight."
"Oh, come on," Zell said, putting his hands on his hips. Standing there, cocked and irritated, he seemed to contrast with his professional-looking uniform. "Just who do you think I am?"
Irvine, his hair tousled and haggard where it was tied back at the nape of his neck, looked flatly at him and lifted a dry eyebrow. "You need to ask?"
Zell let out a sigh and dropped his arm. "For serious, man."
"You stay down here and keep a lookout," Irvine said. "I'm a better shot, I can cover you well from the tower."
"I can cover!" Zell retorted.
"What are you going to do, punch them down?"
Zell raised his fist. "I'll punch -something- down, you stupid a--"
"Woah, woah," Irvine said, lifting his hands defensively. This was no time for bickering, and he forced his voice to be rational. "You can keep watch down here and direct my shots."
And then, for good measure, he added, "Besides, you're a better ground figher than I am. It's practical, just in case something happens. I wouldn't be able to fight anyone off as well as you."
"Yeah, yeah," Zell grumbled, still eyeing his teammate irritably. "Like those bums would even notice a stick of dynamite shoved up their ass."
"Glad we have that settled," Irvine said. And, reslinging his gun back over his shoulder, he pulled himself up onto the first rung of the tower. Beneath his uniform he wore a form-fitting black shirt -- he melded into the darkness, almost to the point where Zell had a tough time seeing him. Only his face and hands, shimmering in the moonlight when he turned a certain way, betrayed him.
Zell, huffing, leaned against one of the thick iron legs of the tower and crossed his arms over his chest. Lolling his tongue over his teeth, he looked from side to side from behind the visor of his helmet. The night was still, and overhead he could hear an occasional metallic creak as Irvine pulled himself higher and higher.
A few minutes passed. It felt like an eternity to him, so when the voices first filtered into his ears Zell couldn't quite comprehend it, it was as if he were coming out from a dream. Hazily, he pushed his weight up off the bar and listened... gripping his weapon tightly.
It was coming from down the walk. Two guards were walking towards them on the other side of the street, and Zell experienced a moment of panic. His palms grew sweaty, his breath quickened, and he realized that he didn't have the time to relay a warning to Irvine up ahead. Hopefully, the man saw for himself.
The guards, however, didn't even seem to think to look up. Zell forced himself to relax and let out a breath as the two men approached. He couldn't see their eyes, but he knew that they had to have been watching him. The low sounds of their voices still filtered through the air, sounding casual, but he knew that he had to look odd, standing out here all alone in the dark like this.
He lifted his visor up far enough to expose his mouth, and put two of his fingers to his lips and cupped it as if he were lighting a cigarette. Murmuring into his hands, he cast a flickering light spell, and then lowered his hand to his side, hoping that the guards, who were passing now, didn't notice that there was nothing in it.
(...or ask to bum a smoke. That'd be just my luck.)
But they were too caught up in their conversation to even notice him. And then Zell noticed how quick their pace was -- not a run, or even a jog, but something much too fast to be as casual as he had first assumed. These were men on a mission. Curious, he watched them pass, and his eyes narrowed as he heard:
"We don't have a lot of time, the boss wanted 'em up an hour ago."
"An hour? I thought he was gonna do it tomorrow."
"Yeah, but it's gotta be......." After that, they were too far -- Zell could only catch snippets.
"...the shields..."
"...fourteen hours..."
"...inhuman..."
Zell narrowed his eyes, and at the end of the street, he saw the two men -- who were very small figures in the distance now -- bend over and pull at something. And then they were gone.
(What the hell?)
He looked up, but couldn't see Irvine against the darkness. Something told him that he had just witnessed something important, something very important. This was serious. All humor, all sluggishness, and all doubt sank into an iron lining in the pit of his abdomen. A rush of adrenaline coiled his muscles into efficient bolts of energy, and with an increased heartbeat he looked up the tower again, and then anxiously to where the soldiers had been.
- - - - -
Irvine heard the clutter of boots falling quickly against pavement, loud and rapid-paced against the quiet of the dark, and wondered why anyone would be moving so obnoxiously at a time and place like this. What was going on? Of course, the realization soon hit him.
(Obnoxious?)
"Oh, great." Irvine hissed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Leaning back a little on the bar that he was sitting on, he craned his head to look down the street from his high-perch. Sure enough, the area below him was empty, and when he lifted his head he saw that Zell was running down the street.
"What the...Zell!" Irvine hissed, knowing that it was foolish to even try. "Zell! Zell! Where in the hell are you going? Zell!!"
"Hot damn." Clenching his teeth, he resisted an urge to shoot the man, and, blood boiling, he put his eyes back on the open panel on the tower and the wires that spilled out from it. He pulled up his cutting tool again, hissed out another curse, and quickened his pace.
- - - - -
Zell slowed down as he neared the area where the two guards had disappeared. Sure enough, he soon came to a manhole cover in the street. Looking from side to side, he let his heart slow a bit, and then he reached down and lifted it enough to slide it off to one side. It grated a little louder than what he hoped, but when he held his breath he heard nothing but the dull whir of machinery.
A few moments later he was dropping in a crouch in the room below. It was a small space, a half-alleyway, and when he stepped out he found himself in a long tunneled out area that reminded him of a sewer, but the small stream that in the middle of the corridor seemed too black, too... was that oil? It must have been.
He listened for a while and thought he heard a faint murmur up ahead. Slowly, he inched forward and followed the sound. It seemed endless and dank, this space, and the smell of oily machine waste was slowly making him dizzy. The tunnel, despiteits length and arched ceilings, was smothering and claustrophobic. Keeping his footsteps measured, he made not a sound, and he listened intently to make sure that he was not -too- close... this was no time for confrontation.
The corridor, although straight for a period, soon broke into a system of curves and bends. Zell was anxious of not being able to see what was ahead, but the sound of the faraway voices was alluring, calming... as long as they were there and at that distance, he knew would be safe.
But soon, they grew louder as he moved. They must have stopped somewhere. Zell's heart began to thud against his ribcage again, heavy and tense. Slowing, cautious, he walked until he reached a corner where the voices were too close for him to go any further. They were right there, around that bend! They were that near!
And, sure enough, when Zell took a peek around a corner he saw another dark space where there was an indentation in the wall -- there must have been a room there or something, and the two guards had stopped there. Taking a breath, Zell leaned back against the wall that he was hiding behind and listened.
"This isn't as easy as it looks."
"C'mon, Carver. All you have to do is reverse it."
"No, idiot," was the huffing reply. "If we reversed it, it'll just go the way it was before. We don't want the place to be -invisible-, we want to -seal- it. There's a difference."
(Seal...? What the...) Zell's eyes narrowed as this sank into his head, and then widened with realization. (Seal?! The shields! That's why none of the soldiers seem worried about being attacked! They're going to seal the place up! By the time anyone gets an army ready to come here, it'll be too late, there'll be no way in!)
And then, even more ominously.
(...and no way out...)
"But Biggs and Wedge already over-rode the system," the other man was saying. "It should just be a matter of--"
"Just a matter of," Carver mimicked snidely. "Why don't -you- just do it, then!"
"Hey! You two! Get out here!"
Zell felt his heart stop -- that last voice didn't come from inside the room, it came from -behind- him. He whirled around, panicking, and felt his terror widen with the realization that he was only a few yards away from another bend... from behind which, only seconds from coming into view, a third soldier was moving his way. He could hear the ~clomp-squish~ of boots against slick pavement, and then, in a rush, the same sound broke out -behind- him. The other two were coming out... and he was stuck in the middle.
(Countdown starts at three...)
Zell looked quickly from side to side. Fight? But there were three of them, and they were armed. He didn't want to risk it. If something happened to him, then Irvine would have to waste time searching -- by then, the city may already be sealed. He had to get out of this, he had to find a way to warn everyone!
(...two...)
Could he pretend that he was with one of them? No, no, that was impossible! He was terrible at that kind of thing, and even if his performance was brilliant, they wouldn't buy it -- how could he possibly explain how he got here, sneaking around like this?
(...one...)
"Shit." Zell whispered, and he lowered his visor all the way over his face.
(...Game over.)
- - - - -
"What is it?" Carver asked. The man beside him, who was called Hoager, put his hands on his hips and looked at the breathless soldier who was standing across from them.
"General Iskuya just called an urgent meeting. We can't seem to find what we're looking for, and we may have to do something a little more drastic than what we first planned. He wanted you there, Carver."
"Yeah," Carver said. "Sure thing -- Hoagie here seems to know -everything- about the shields, so I think he can cover it himself."
"Oh, shut up," Hoager said.
"Whatever," the solider said. "Just get your asses in gear, okay? This is no time to dick around. We're on a schedule."
"Alright," Carver said. He was going to say something else, but then, suddenly, he stopped. His eyes, shaded by the lifted visor on his helmet, shifted off to one side, and everyone held their breath at the sight of the look on his face. "...did you guys hear something?"
"Huh?" Hoager asked.
"I don't know..." Carver took a few steps over, and then glanced back and forth across the corridor. The scummy walls stretched barely, and liquid plipped and dropped against stone. He came to a stop next to the silently moving oil stream, animated only by an occasional rush of foam or bits of debris. For a silent moment, he looked around.
"Nah, nevermind." He said, although his eyes said otherwise. "Guess I'm just paranoid."
"With the shit that we're going to do in mind," the third soldier said, "You should be more than just paranoid, man. You should be freakin' terrified."
Carver and Hoager exchanged a glance.
"Just what is the boss planning?" Carver asked.
- - - - -
The oil was thick and a little warm -- it felt as if he were in a wet, rubbery womb. When Zell slid into the small channel, he didn't make a sound... as if he were being swallowed up by quicksand, he was absorbed into the stream. It wasn't very deep, but he let himself sink as low as he could -- it was enough for his entire body to be covered, and it took a moment for his body to scrape the stone floor. If he were standing, it would have been close to thigh-deep.
The flow was slowly easing him forward, as if he were being forced down the esophagus of some gigantic throat. Zell breathed raspily in the slightly sealed safety of his helmet, but he knew that he didn't have much time before he'd lose the luxury.
Time.
Here, there was no concept of time.
It was like an abyss.
He couldn't see, he couldn't hear, and with oil cushioning him on all sides, the rest of his senses suffered. He couldn't even be -sure- that he was moving, although he hoped that he was. Idly, he felt the dull and distant scrape of stone against his fingertips, as he tried to propel himself downstream and toward safety... but it was so slick, he couldn't get a grip. His fingers just slid. Rejoined the state of Nothingness.
His uniform had absorbed a lot, and he felt himself sinking, felt the oil push itself into his flesh... he was so heavy, could he even stand if he wanted to?
(Please.) Zell thought. (Please let me be moving.)
(Please let me get away.)
He couldn't hear.
He couldn't see...
Something lapped at his chin, and then, with a rush, he tasted the bitterness of oil as it began to pour into his helmet. He felt his head begin to sink, and with a rush of panic, oil flooded into his nostrils. In an instant, his entire being was taken in by the thick darkness.
End Part 19/?
To Be Continued.
Of this one way ride.."
--Hooverphonic
"There's a man who leads a life of danger
To everyone he meets he stays a stranger
With every move he makes
Another chance he takes
Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow--
Secret Agent Man!
Secret Agent Man!"
--P.F. Sloan and Steve Barri
For When You Return
Part XIX
The shadows of Esthar stretched and warped behind the buildings that they clung to as the sun lolled over and down into the womb that was the horizon. The darkness thickened and swallowed everything up into grey until, after that brief moment of transition, the streetlights flickered and lifted, warmly filling the streets with dim artificial light.
Not a soul was out in the industrial area of the city. It was hard to imagine that, only a few blocks down, people milled about cheerfully in the entertainment district, having no idea that the soldiers among them were the enemy. The uniformed men walked about, a few stood watch on a corner here and there, and they were all the more sinister because of the laughter and oblivion that was all around them. No one was aware that the Estharian officers were actually Galbadians in disguise.
The guards near the communications tower were a little more ominous. There was still a bored tilt to their heads, a casualness to the way they held their firearms that suggested great confidence. It was as if they didn't know -- or didn't care -- that they were close to the entrance to the city, that they were in an area where an attack would come first. It was as if they sincerely felt no need for any sort of caution.
Irvine Kinneas watched this from afar, and felt a slight tingle sink into his belly and latch tight there. Sure, there were foolish enemies out there, he'd seen his share of them. But this was the Galbadian army, and they were in the process of taking over an important city. Even a child would expect some sort of opposition, no matter how sly the act... and yet the sentries that he snuck by seemed more concerned with watching for wayward citizens than an enemy, as if they were from the village police rather than an actual military.
"Sheesh." Zell was right behind him, looking prim and formal where he crouched in his Galbadian gear. They were hidden in an alleyway between two buildings. Irvine, who was standing upright in the shadows, looked away from the guard that he was watching and down at him.
"Man," Zell continued. "Are we in enemy territory or a nursing home?"
"I dunno," Irvine said. "It's weird...I don't like it." Ignoring the snort that came from Zell's direction, he craned his head to look at the communications tower looming up in the near distance. A single red light, tiny and obscure, blinked ominously. Tightening his mouth, he shouldered his rifle. "Let's just hurry up and get this over with."
"Yeah, yeah," Zell said. "By the time that Grandpa Galbadia gets his dentures in and notices that we're here, we'll be retired ourselves back in Balamb."
"Yeah, well -- the thing is that they're not -supposed- to know that we're here, alright? And if these really -are- Galbadian soldiers, we need to keep it that way. Understand?"
Zell, standing upright, put his fingers to his head in a stiff salute. "Sir! Yes sir! I forgot that I must follow your example! Inserting stick up ass now, Sir! "
"Are you a SeeD or a walking death wish?" Irvine muttered. And Zell would have retorted, but the sentry had moved and Irvine took the opportunity to rush across the street, keeping watch and managing a pace that, if stumbled upon, they could be mistaken for soldiers on call. However, he worked hard not to be noticed. Zell, sobering a little, took up his blaster and followed.
The street that the tower was on was vacant. The pair slowed their pace as they approached, alternating between looking up at the structure and looking around for any opposition. The night, starry and vibrant against the sparsely lit street, shone coldly upon them. Zell wet his lips, and then started when he looked over to see Irvine removing his helmet and setting it by his feet, before unbuttoning the topcoat of his uniform.
"What in the hell are you doing?"
"This stuff is heavy," Irvine said. "I can't climb in that."
"Who said you were climbing?"
"Who said I wasn't?"
"-I- want to climb," Zell said.
"You just want to pick a fight."
"Oh, come on," Zell said, putting his hands on his hips. Standing there, cocked and irritated, he seemed to contrast with his professional-looking uniform. "Just who do you think I am?"
Irvine, his hair tousled and haggard where it was tied back at the nape of his neck, looked flatly at him and lifted a dry eyebrow. "You need to ask?"
Zell let out a sigh and dropped his arm. "For serious, man."
"You stay down here and keep a lookout," Irvine said. "I'm a better shot, I can cover you well from the tower."
"I can cover!" Zell retorted.
"What are you going to do, punch them down?"
Zell raised his fist. "I'll punch -something- down, you stupid a--"
"Woah, woah," Irvine said, lifting his hands defensively. This was no time for bickering, and he forced his voice to be rational. "You can keep watch down here and direct my shots."
And then, for good measure, he added, "Besides, you're a better ground figher than I am. It's practical, just in case something happens. I wouldn't be able to fight anyone off as well as you."
"Yeah, yeah," Zell grumbled, still eyeing his teammate irritably. "Like those bums would even notice a stick of dynamite shoved up their ass."
"Glad we have that settled," Irvine said. And, reslinging his gun back over his shoulder, he pulled himself up onto the first rung of the tower. Beneath his uniform he wore a form-fitting black shirt -- he melded into the darkness, almost to the point where Zell had a tough time seeing him. Only his face and hands, shimmering in the moonlight when he turned a certain way, betrayed him.
Zell, huffing, leaned against one of the thick iron legs of the tower and crossed his arms over his chest. Lolling his tongue over his teeth, he looked from side to side from behind the visor of his helmet. The night was still, and overhead he could hear an occasional metallic creak as Irvine pulled himself higher and higher.
A few minutes passed. It felt like an eternity to him, so when the voices first filtered into his ears Zell couldn't quite comprehend it, it was as if he were coming out from a dream. Hazily, he pushed his weight up off the bar and listened... gripping his weapon tightly.
It was coming from down the walk. Two guards were walking towards them on the other side of the street, and Zell experienced a moment of panic. His palms grew sweaty, his breath quickened, and he realized that he didn't have the time to relay a warning to Irvine up ahead. Hopefully, the man saw for himself.
The guards, however, didn't even seem to think to look up. Zell forced himself to relax and let out a breath as the two men approached. He couldn't see their eyes, but he knew that they had to have been watching him. The low sounds of their voices still filtered through the air, sounding casual, but he knew that he had to look odd, standing out here all alone in the dark like this.
He lifted his visor up far enough to expose his mouth, and put two of his fingers to his lips and cupped it as if he were lighting a cigarette. Murmuring into his hands, he cast a flickering light spell, and then lowered his hand to his side, hoping that the guards, who were passing now, didn't notice that there was nothing in it.
(...or ask to bum a smoke. That'd be just my luck.)
But they were too caught up in their conversation to even notice him. And then Zell noticed how quick their pace was -- not a run, or even a jog, but something much too fast to be as casual as he had first assumed. These were men on a mission. Curious, he watched them pass, and his eyes narrowed as he heard:
"We don't have a lot of time, the boss wanted 'em up an hour ago."
"An hour? I thought he was gonna do it tomorrow."
"Yeah, but it's gotta be......." After that, they were too far -- Zell could only catch snippets.
"...the shields..."
"...fourteen hours..."
"...inhuman..."
Zell narrowed his eyes, and at the end of the street, he saw the two men -- who were very small figures in the distance now -- bend over and pull at something. And then they were gone.
(What the hell?)
He looked up, but couldn't see Irvine against the darkness. Something told him that he had just witnessed something important, something very important. This was serious. All humor, all sluggishness, and all doubt sank into an iron lining in the pit of his abdomen. A rush of adrenaline coiled his muscles into efficient bolts of energy, and with an increased heartbeat he looked up the tower again, and then anxiously to where the soldiers had been.
- - - - -
Irvine heard the clutter of boots falling quickly against pavement, loud and rapid-paced against the quiet of the dark, and wondered why anyone would be moving so obnoxiously at a time and place like this. What was going on? Of course, the realization soon hit him.
(Obnoxious?)
"Oh, great." Irvine hissed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Leaning back a little on the bar that he was sitting on, he craned his head to look down the street from his high-perch. Sure enough, the area below him was empty, and when he lifted his head he saw that Zell was running down the street.
"What the...Zell!" Irvine hissed, knowing that it was foolish to even try. "Zell! Zell! Where in the hell are you going? Zell!!"
"Hot damn." Clenching his teeth, he resisted an urge to shoot the man, and, blood boiling, he put his eyes back on the open panel on the tower and the wires that spilled out from it. He pulled up his cutting tool again, hissed out another curse, and quickened his pace.
- - - - -
Zell slowed down as he neared the area where the two guards had disappeared. Sure enough, he soon came to a manhole cover in the street. Looking from side to side, he let his heart slow a bit, and then he reached down and lifted it enough to slide it off to one side. It grated a little louder than what he hoped, but when he held his breath he heard nothing but the dull whir of machinery.
A few moments later he was dropping in a crouch in the room below. It was a small space, a half-alleyway, and when he stepped out he found himself in a long tunneled out area that reminded him of a sewer, but the small stream that in the middle of the corridor seemed too black, too... was that oil? It must have been.
He listened for a while and thought he heard a faint murmur up ahead. Slowly, he inched forward and followed the sound. It seemed endless and dank, this space, and the smell of oily machine waste was slowly making him dizzy. The tunnel, despiteits length and arched ceilings, was smothering and claustrophobic. Keeping his footsteps measured, he made not a sound, and he listened intently to make sure that he was not -too- close... this was no time for confrontation.
The corridor, although straight for a period, soon broke into a system of curves and bends. Zell was anxious of not being able to see what was ahead, but the sound of the faraway voices was alluring, calming... as long as they were there and at that distance, he knew would be safe.
But soon, they grew louder as he moved. They must have stopped somewhere. Zell's heart began to thud against his ribcage again, heavy and tense. Slowing, cautious, he walked until he reached a corner where the voices were too close for him to go any further. They were right there, around that bend! They were that near!
And, sure enough, when Zell took a peek around a corner he saw another dark space where there was an indentation in the wall -- there must have been a room there or something, and the two guards had stopped there. Taking a breath, Zell leaned back against the wall that he was hiding behind and listened.
"This isn't as easy as it looks."
"C'mon, Carver. All you have to do is reverse it."
"No, idiot," was the huffing reply. "If we reversed it, it'll just go the way it was before. We don't want the place to be -invisible-, we want to -seal- it. There's a difference."
(Seal...? What the...) Zell's eyes narrowed as this sank into his head, and then widened with realization. (Seal?! The shields! That's why none of the soldiers seem worried about being attacked! They're going to seal the place up! By the time anyone gets an army ready to come here, it'll be too late, there'll be no way in!)
And then, even more ominously.
(...and no way out...)
"But Biggs and Wedge already over-rode the system," the other man was saying. "It should just be a matter of--"
"Just a matter of," Carver mimicked snidely. "Why don't -you- just do it, then!"
"Hey! You two! Get out here!"
Zell felt his heart stop -- that last voice didn't come from inside the room, it came from -behind- him. He whirled around, panicking, and felt his terror widen with the realization that he was only a few yards away from another bend... from behind which, only seconds from coming into view, a third soldier was moving his way. He could hear the ~clomp-squish~ of boots against slick pavement, and then, in a rush, the same sound broke out -behind- him. The other two were coming out... and he was stuck in the middle.
(Countdown starts at three...)
Zell looked quickly from side to side. Fight? But there were three of them, and they were armed. He didn't want to risk it. If something happened to him, then Irvine would have to waste time searching -- by then, the city may already be sealed. He had to get out of this, he had to find a way to warn everyone!
(...two...)
Could he pretend that he was with one of them? No, no, that was impossible! He was terrible at that kind of thing, and even if his performance was brilliant, they wouldn't buy it -- how could he possibly explain how he got here, sneaking around like this?
(...one...)
"Shit." Zell whispered, and he lowered his visor all the way over his face.
(...Game over.)
- - - - -
"What is it?" Carver asked. The man beside him, who was called Hoager, put his hands on his hips and looked at the breathless soldier who was standing across from them.
"General Iskuya just called an urgent meeting. We can't seem to find what we're looking for, and we may have to do something a little more drastic than what we first planned. He wanted you there, Carver."
"Yeah," Carver said. "Sure thing -- Hoagie here seems to know -everything- about the shields, so I think he can cover it himself."
"Oh, shut up," Hoager said.
"Whatever," the solider said. "Just get your asses in gear, okay? This is no time to dick around. We're on a schedule."
"Alright," Carver said. He was going to say something else, but then, suddenly, he stopped. His eyes, shaded by the lifted visor on his helmet, shifted off to one side, and everyone held their breath at the sight of the look on his face. "...did you guys hear something?"
"Huh?" Hoager asked.
"I don't know..." Carver took a few steps over, and then glanced back and forth across the corridor. The scummy walls stretched barely, and liquid plipped and dropped against stone. He came to a stop next to the silently moving oil stream, animated only by an occasional rush of foam or bits of debris. For a silent moment, he looked around.
"Nah, nevermind." He said, although his eyes said otherwise. "Guess I'm just paranoid."
"With the shit that we're going to do in mind," the third soldier said, "You should be more than just paranoid, man. You should be freakin' terrified."
Carver and Hoager exchanged a glance.
"Just what is the boss planning?" Carver asked.
- - - - -
The oil was thick and a little warm -- it felt as if he were in a wet, rubbery womb. When Zell slid into the small channel, he didn't make a sound... as if he were being swallowed up by quicksand, he was absorbed into the stream. It wasn't very deep, but he let himself sink as low as he could -- it was enough for his entire body to be covered, and it took a moment for his body to scrape the stone floor. If he were standing, it would have been close to thigh-deep.
The flow was slowly easing him forward, as if he were being forced down the esophagus of some gigantic throat. Zell breathed raspily in the slightly sealed safety of his helmet, but he knew that he didn't have much time before he'd lose the luxury.
Time.
Here, there was no concept of time.
It was like an abyss.
He couldn't see, he couldn't hear, and with oil cushioning him on all sides, the rest of his senses suffered. He couldn't even be -sure- that he was moving, although he hoped that he was. Idly, he felt the dull and distant scrape of stone against his fingertips, as he tried to propel himself downstream and toward safety... but it was so slick, he couldn't get a grip. His fingers just slid. Rejoined the state of Nothingness.
His uniform had absorbed a lot, and he felt himself sinking, felt the oil push itself into his flesh... he was so heavy, could he even stand if he wanted to?
(Please.) Zell thought. (Please let me be moving.)
(Please let me get away.)
He couldn't hear.
He couldn't see...
Something lapped at his chin, and then, with a rush, he tasted the bitterness of oil as it began to pour into his helmet. He felt his head begin to sink, and with a rush of panic, oil flooded into his nostrils. In an instant, his entire being was taken in by the thick darkness.
End Part 19/?
To Be Continued.