Erskine
Seamus sat at his working table in his home. His 'ghetto', as he liked to call it, was the upper floor of a warehouse. The upper floor was branched off into four sections, and you couldn't get to his ghetto without walking through the other three, which he had trashed up pretty well to match the lower floors of the warehouse. Another thing was that most of the Earther's lived underground, so no one would suspect him living there...
Skattered across his aged and rusty table were miniature bombs and specs of a small Nietzschean stronghold. He had half the bombs planted already, but the rest he would have to plant as he went along inside. Leaning back in his chair, he pulled a tool belt off of the floor, and started to fit different items onto it.
All of the bombs... nanowelder he got off of the black market... couple of black bandanas... few medical supplies... small gun with a few attachments... remote control... cord and jacks... couple dozen shrillers...
Chalk up another one on the list of crimes; defacing public property.
After he finished with his belt, he stood up, dropping it on the table with all the papers and disks there. He stumbled over to his bed, (if you could tall it that), crashing onto the slightly softened wood, and rolled onto his back. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, his eyes dead. He closed them slowly, praying to the Divine for a dreamless sleep...
'Shay!' a voice called in the darkness. 'Shay! Where are you!' As the darkness slowly bled into soft greys and reds, he looked around the room.
Since when had the door handle been so high up?
Since when did he have a squashed but cosy living room?
Since when did he see red everywhere?
'Shay,' the voice said again, as a tall lady entered the room. Her apperance was pinched and blurred, like a fading memory, but one thing was clear. Her soft blue eyes... it was like a becon of light in the darkness. 'Sh-shay?' She was frightened. 'Shay, what happened?'
He looked at his hands, completely red, then at the floor where another hand entered his vision. He looked back up at the woman, tears coming to his eyes to wash away the red. He shook with fear.
'I killed them mother,' he said, his voice small and shrill, yet calm. 'I killed them.'
'Why..?' the lady asked, tears coming to her eyes as well. He never looked away from her blue eyes; they were the only things that wouldn't stay red. 'Why Seamus? They... they were- ARE, your cousins.'
'I killed them,' he repeated, not stating a reason. His tears fell harder, but he could still only see an endless sea of red.
He fell to the floor, and looked at the helpless faces of two mutilated bodies, and small, childish larvae smeared in blood ripped from their flesh, killed, and throw throughout the room. Their cold, dead eyes stared at him, hauntingly...
'I killed them...'
Seamus sat straight up, covered in cold sweat. He looked outside the small window next to his bed, the dark sky telling him he had to go soon. He stood up out of bed, and pulled his sweatshirt and t-shirt off at the same time, revealing unheathly white skin; old and new scars alike criss-crossed over an orchestra of ribs and other bones. Tossing the clothes to the side, he digged around until he found his thin, long sleaved, black shirt that he wore whenever going out for a 'mission'. Unbuckling his pants, he let them slip to the floor before finding another pair of torn black sweat pants that itched. He sat down to tie up his only pair of useless black boots, trying not to think about his dream.
Standing up, he walked over to his work table. Clipping the tool belt around his thin waist, he tighted it as much as he could, yet it still hung off of him. He turned to leave, but paused. Drumming his fingers against the table, thinkinging desperately for a few moments, his dead eyes racked over the room. Finally giving up his interal battle, he turned back and walked over to the window, kneeling down on his bed. He looked at the little 'shrine' he had there...
The shrine was quite simple: a picture, face down on the windowsil, a burnt out candle, a knife crusted with dried blood, and a single, heart shaped locket.
He took the picture, flipping it over in his hands, and glared at it. It was a black and white picture of the lady from his dreams, her eyes coloured in a light blue from an old crayon found on the street.
"I said I was sorry, bitch," he hissed under his breath to the picture. "I said I was fucking sorry, so stop haunting me already!" He slammed the picture back down, and stormed out of his ghetto. Through one room, being careful of glass and trip wires and alarms that set off shrillers, through another that looked as if a tornado had gone through it as well, and through the last, whose doors hung on their hinges, and cabinets littered the floor.
Just another reminder why he hated Earth.
He vaulted down the steps, three at a time, stopping short at the door. Taking deep calming breathes, he forced himself to forget all about the dream... all about everything...
Already he could feel his vision turning red at the edges, but he ignored it as he slipped outside, just another shadow. As he walked, he tied one of the bandana's around his head searching not with his eyes, but his ears, what was around him.
The stronghold was close by, maybe a little too close for comfort, but there was rumoured to be some valuable information in there. Information that enemies of the Drago-Katzov would want. Information that might get him off of this damn forsaken rock they lovingly called 'Earth'.
As he passed by the allyway that Brendan had dragged almost a week ago, he faltered. Was it really worth it? Pushing everyone away to achieve what he wanted? Was it worth it to make even your family hate you? Was it really worth it to be strong?
'No,' Seamus answered in his mind. He continued to walk 'No, it's not worth shit, but that doesn't mean you can prevent it. Damn my father for being a loving bastard. Damn my mother for being such a saucy bitch. Damn Brendan for caring, and damn the rest of them for looking up to me! It's their own fault I'm like this.'
Just another block, and he would be at the enterance. There's a small hole in the fencing, but he's thin even by Earther standards, and should be able to pull himself through. Alls he would have to do after that is sneak his way to the center of the building, planting strategically placed bombs as he went, steal the information, and--
"H-help..." a voice croaked in the darkness. Seamus jumped dispite himself, and disappeared into the shadows. He followed the noise of a sudden coughing fit to a patch of darkness not three feet infront of him. Another couple of steps and he could of been a goner. "Pl...please... help me..." more coughing. Seamus weighed the choices in his head.
Help the stranger, get side-tracked, arrive at stronghold later then he already was, and get no reward. Don't help the stranger, arrive slightly earlier, and still get no reward.
"Easy there," Seamus said reluctantly, walking forwards. He could dimly make out the outline of a boy lying there. "Are you hurt? I've got some bandages here..."
"N-no..." the boy laughed. "No... but thank you..."
"You ask for help, then don't want it?" Seamus glared at him. He started to leave, not bothering to waste his time.
"Wait!" the boy called desperately, then started to cough again. Seamus sighed irritably, but waited for him to finish coughing. "C-could... could you help... me?"
"I offered already, smart ass," Seamus hissed at him. "And you said no."
"I'm too... too far," another small cough. "Too far gone... could you, kill me?" Seamus was shocked to say the least; that wasn't a new request, but he had never been asked personally to kill someone, let alone someone he didn't know. "And..."
"A catch," Seamus muttered under his breathe. "I should of known..."
"Could you, maybe... help my sister?" the boy asked. Seamus' dead eyes stared at him blankly. "She... she was captured... just recently, by the Nietzscheans... they took her to that building... right there, that one." Seamus almost couldn't breathe; innocent people where in that building? How could he blow it up now, without having to bite his lip for a few tense minutes before he pushed the button on his remote?
"One damn slave isn't worth my time," Seamus snapped. "Your sister will die a short death, don't worry."
"No!" The boy cried. Seamus could hear sobs that turned into even more violent coughs. "No... please, have mercy on her, she's precious to me... even if you only push her out onto the streets, just... please make sure that she doesn't die in the hands of the Nietzscheans?" Seamus sighed again.
"If I promise will you shut up and die already?" Seamus asked him, only to recieve what could of been a laugh.
"Yes," the boy said, tiredly. "Yes, I'm ready to die now... thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," Seamus growled at him. Without laying a hand on the boy, he turned and left.
"Erskine!" The boy called hoarshly. "Ask for Erskine!" Seamus ignored him, and continued on his way. The hole in the fencing was close, and as soon as he got to it, he slipped through. He molded to the shadows easily, as it all seemed to be tinted a dull red. He shook his head a little to clear it, but it didn't work. He continued, pausing whenever he thought he heard someone coming.
Slipping into the stronghold itself was easy enough. Find an air vent, use his nanowelder to cut it off of the wall, pull himself in, and start to squirm as quietly as possible through the walls. Every once in awhile he got a view of a room below him, and once or twice he stopped to weld a bomb to the roof of the vent, but other then that his small journey was uneventfull. In fact, he doubted he would come across any trouble at all during this 'mission'.
That's when he found out the bad news.
He had come to the end of the vents, and the only way out was to make a hole and fall straight down. He started to do so, dispite what the circumstancesmight be. As soon as he banged on the hunk of metal, causing it to fall with a loud clatter, he realised what the secret information was.
A small slave camp, right in their very own stronghold.
Faces looked up at him, curious as to what he was doing, and why he was there. Some of the faces where hopeful, others worried. Many were scared. He turned around in the vents, easier then someone bigger would of done, and lowered himself through the makeshift hole until he was hanging by his fingertips. Just as he was going to let go and hope he didn't break his leg, hands grabbed onto his knees and shins, tugging lightly. With moment nervousness, he let go, only to be caught, and settled down on the ground.
No one made a sound.
"Who are you all?" Seamus found himself asking, as he pushed through the crowd. He needed to find the exit.
"Lab specimens," one lonely voice said quietly. Seamus didn't look to see who it belonged to.
"Let me go!!" a crying voice called out, distant, yet coming closer. Seamus followed to sound of footsteps. "Let! Me! Go!"
"Stop fighting, kludge!" a rough voice responded, followed by the sharp sound of flesh-on-flesh. The crying continued, but no protests came. Seamus tried to break through the last little wall of people, but someone stopped him. He turned to glare at the person, who ended up being an old man.
"If they see you," the old man muttered. "They'll either kill you, your add you as another specimen. Let them leave, then you can look at what you want, stranger." Seamus nodded, seeing the logic in this, and waited.
The sound of a lock being forced open nearly deafened him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Something was shoved into the crowd of people, causing someone to push him backwards, and the crying became louder. When he opened his eyes, the lock was being forced closed again, and everything seemed to be redder...
"It is safe now, stranger," the old man said. The crowd parted, surrounding him and the crying person who had been shoved into the cell. The person was collasped onto the floor, hugging themself tightly. "Speak."
"What are you specimens for?" Seamus barked, eyes narrowing at the people around him.
"Sceince project they want to perfect," the old man answered. "Also, a few of us are lost each week as they try something else, but no one has returned alive to figure out what."
"Why won't they speak for themselves?" Seamus barked out again. The old man smiled a yellow, toothy smile.
"You drop down from the sky, like a god," the old man said lightly. "Or, more approprietly, a messenger sent by the Divine. They dare not speak, in fear that they shall anger you, and that you will not let them out."
"And you know this, how?" Seamus glared at him.
"It has happened several times before," the old man explained. "Though you are the first to drop from the sky like you did. Will you leave without us, or set us free?" For the second time that night, Seamus weighed his choices.
Save them, have his presence known, most likely not get to set off his bombs, and the possibility of getting caught again. Don't save them, don't get to set off bombs anyways, and risk getting caught as he tries to steal the information.
"Does anyone know if they have this information written down?" Seamus asked, looking around him. No one answered. "Come on... has anyone been close enough to see if they have any information on discs, flexis, or paper!"
"N-no..." the voice startled him somewhat. He looked down at the crying figure, who inturn looked up at him. It was a girl, and her merky, hazel eyes made a small impression on him before sinking into redness as well. "I... I was j-just there... they have n-no... no discs."
"Okay," Seamus sighed. No solid information, so he could risk setting them free. "Thanks. Now..." he turned back to the old man. "I'll let you all out of here, but you guys have to help me back into the vents, not leave this cell for awhile, and then get out of here as soon as possible, okay?" The old man nodded eagerly, and smiled. Seamus, muttering curses under his breathe, pushed his way over to the barred door, and using his nanowelder once again, started to cut them a way out.
Once he was done, he removed all the bandages, bandanas and shrillers that he had on his tool belt, placing them on the ground.
"Use these wisely," he grunted, as he moved back towards the hole.
"Thank you," someone said. It was followed by another, and another, and soon the cell was filled with a soft hum of 'thank you's. Seamus ignored them as he instructed a few tall, study men to stand underneath the hole and help him to stand on their shoulders. Once balanced, he reached as high as he could, the murmur of 'thank you' still there, and calculated that he was about two feet too short. Sucking in a deep, shuddering breathe, he jumped...
And grabbed onto the edge of the makeshift hole. He panted for a moment, before he dragged himself up. It took him awhile, but he made it, and laid there for another moment, just thinking.
"Stranger!" the voice of the old man called around the murmurs. Seamus turned slowly, and looked down at them all. "How ever can we thank you?" Seamus was about to tell them to screw off and live, when he remembered.
"Anyone here Erskine?" he asked. The murmuring grew more incoherent, 'Erskine' coming to the teen's ears every once in awhile.
"Here..." a small voice said. The voice was trapped beneath the crowd, but they parted as much as they could, to show the crying girl who had told him that there was no written information. "I'm Erskine..."
"Bring her up here," Seamus sighed out. It was only moments before the girl was being hoisted into the air, and Seamus reached down to grab her hand. She looked up at him fearfully, but let him pull her up into the vents, helping out as soon as she could.
Backed up now, he studied her red washed face. It was thin and worn, but not as much as many others as he had seen, suggesting that she got a little more food a little more often. Her hair was as dirty as anyone elses, looking only slightly tiddier in the braid it was twisted into. Her eyes were rimmed with dark lashes, and glistened with tiny crystal tears that made pathes in the grim on her face.
"Follow me," Seamus told her, as he turned around again. "And keep quiet." The girl seemed all too happy to do so, and several minutes later, when Seamus fell a little too loudly out of the vents, she followed. Seamus looked around tiredly as he stood up with her, and led her back through a maze of shadows. A few moments later though, the entire compound was flooded with lights. "Shit!"
He ran. He couldn't tell if 'Erskine' were following him, and he didn't really care, he just ran as fast as he could. Soon enough, they came up to the hole in the fence: hadn't it been farther away?
"Go," he hissed, turning around. The girl was still there. Hesitantly, she looked from him to the hole. The sound of a gun shot made her decision, and she pulled herself through easily, and waited for him. "Run!"
"You, kludge! Stop!" The girl shot him an uneasy look, but ran, then Seamus turned. Standing about thirty feet away from him were three Nietzscheans, all of them carrying gause guns. "You let out our slaves, didn't you?" Seamus just grinned at them.
He wished he could see the whites of their eyes, or at least read the panic in them. A sea of red enveloped him warmly, and he let it. It was like a warm embrace after a cold winter night...
When he opened his eyes, he realised that he must of blacked out. Groaning, he closed his eyes again and tried to remember what happened. It all came to a blank.
'No matter,' he said to himself. 'I'll just dream about it sooner or later, like I do all the other times I black out...'
He listened carefully to everything around him. By his guesses, he was lying on his back in an ally somewhere, but someone or something was constantly moving. He groaned again as he tried to move, his entire body starting to ache.
"That's not a good idea," a small voice said; it was familiar. "You got burned pretty badly."
"Burned?" Seamus muttered, opening his eyes again. "How... how did I get burned?"
"The fires," there, from the corner of his eye. She was sitting in semi-darkness, sewing up his shirt. Wait, his shirt?
"What fires?" Seamus asked, frowning slightly. His back spased again as he moved slightly, but the dim chill of the cold ground started to bite at the back of his mind.
"The fires exploded out of no where," 'Erskine' said as an answer. "They were really pretty, but everyone was screaming. When I found you, you were unconsious, thats why everything is coming to you slow right now. I dragged you here to get better. I'm sorry if I made your back worse, I really didn't mean too..."
"How did you get my shirt?" Seamus asked, slowly bringing up a hand to rub his temple. Something warm and sticky coated over his fingers.
"Very carefully," 'Erskine' replied. "Your Harper, aren't you?"
"Yes," Seamus answered reluctantly. "I saw your brother on the streets... seems it was a good idea to save you afterall."
"He always said I was good like that," 'Erskine' giggled. "Don't worry Harper, I'll have you good as new in no time!"
"Call me Seamus," he whispered, closing his eyes again. "Or Shay, or anything... just not Harper." The girl nodded, though he couldn't see it.
"My name is Tasha," she whispered back. She crawled over to him, and placed his shirt over his bare chest. "Tasha Erskine. Thank you for saving me Seamus..."
With that, he fell back to sleep, praying for it to be a dreamless one.
Seamus sat at his working table in his home. His 'ghetto', as he liked to call it, was the upper floor of a warehouse. The upper floor was branched off into four sections, and you couldn't get to his ghetto without walking through the other three, which he had trashed up pretty well to match the lower floors of the warehouse. Another thing was that most of the Earther's lived underground, so no one would suspect him living there...
Skattered across his aged and rusty table were miniature bombs and specs of a small Nietzschean stronghold. He had half the bombs planted already, but the rest he would have to plant as he went along inside. Leaning back in his chair, he pulled a tool belt off of the floor, and started to fit different items onto it.
All of the bombs... nanowelder he got off of the black market... couple of black bandanas... few medical supplies... small gun with a few attachments... remote control... cord and jacks... couple dozen shrillers...
Chalk up another one on the list of crimes; defacing public property.
After he finished with his belt, he stood up, dropping it on the table with all the papers and disks there. He stumbled over to his bed, (if you could tall it that), crashing onto the slightly softened wood, and rolled onto his back. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, his eyes dead. He closed them slowly, praying to the Divine for a dreamless sleep...
'Shay!' a voice called in the darkness. 'Shay! Where are you!' As the darkness slowly bled into soft greys and reds, he looked around the room.
Since when had the door handle been so high up?
Since when did he have a squashed but cosy living room?
Since when did he see red everywhere?
'Shay,' the voice said again, as a tall lady entered the room. Her apperance was pinched and blurred, like a fading memory, but one thing was clear. Her soft blue eyes... it was like a becon of light in the darkness. 'Sh-shay?' She was frightened. 'Shay, what happened?'
He looked at his hands, completely red, then at the floor where another hand entered his vision. He looked back up at the woman, tears coming to his eyes to wash away the red. He shook with fear.
'I killed them mother,' he said, his voice small and shrill, yet calm. 'I killed them.'
'Why..?' the lady asked, tears coming to her eyes as well. He never looked away from her blue eyes; they were the only things that wouldn't stay red. 'Why Seamus? They... they were- ARE, your cousins.'
'I killed them,' he repeated, not stating a reason. His tears fell harder, but he could still only see an endless sea of red.
He fell to the floor, and looked at the helpless faces of two mutilated bodies, and small, childish larvae smeared in blood ripped from their flesh, killed, and throw throughout the room. Their cold, dead eyes stared at him, hauntingly...
'I killed them...'
Seamus sat straight up, covered in cold sweat. He looked outside the small window next to his bed, the dark sky telling him he had to go soon. He stood up out of bed, and pulled his sweatshirt and t-shirt off at the same time, revealing unheathly white skin; old and new scars alike criss-crossed over an orchestra of ribs and other bones. Tossing the clothes to the side, he digged around until he found his thin, long sleaved, black shirt that he wore whenever going out for a 'mission'. Unbuckling his pants, he let them slip to the floor before finding another pair of torn black sweat pants that itched. He sat down to tie up his only pair of useless black boots, trying not to think about his dream.
Standing up, he walked over to his work table. Clipping the tool belt around his thin waist, he tighted it as much as he could, yet it still hung off of him. He turned to leave, but paused. Drumming his fingers against the table, thinkinging desperately for a few moments, his dead eyes racked over the room. Finally giving up his interal battle, he turned back and walked over to the window, kneeling down on his bed. He looked at the little 'shrine' he had there...
The shrine was quite simple: a picture, face down on the windowsil, a burnt out candle, a knife crusted with dried blood, and a single, heart shaped locket.
He took the picture, flipping it over in his hands, and glared at it. It was a black and white picture of the lady from his dreams, her eyes coloured in a light blue from an old crayon found on the street.
"I said I was sorry, bitch," he hissed under his breath to the picture. "I said I was fucking sorry, so stop haunting me already!" He slammed the picture back down, and stormed out of his ghetto. Through one room, being careful of glass and trip wires and alarms that set off shrillers, through another that looked as if a tornado had gone through it as well, and through the last, whose doors hung on their hinges, and cabinets littered the floor.
Just another reminder why he hated Earth.
He vaulted down the steps, three at a time, stopping short at the door. Taking deep calming breathes, he forced himself to forget all about the dream... all about everything...
Already he could feel his vision turning red at the edges, but he ignored it as he slipped outside, just another shadow. As he walked, he tied one of the bandana's around his head searching not with his eyes, but his ears, what was around him.
The stronghold was close by, maybe a little too close for comfort, but there was rumoured to be some valuable information in there. Information that enemies of the Drago-Katzov would want. Information that might get him off of this damn forsaken rock they lovingly called 'Earth'.
As he passed by the allyway that Brendan had dragged almost a week ago, he faltered. Was it really worth it? Pushing everyone away to achieve what he wanted? Was it worth it to make even your family hate you? Was it really worth it to be strong?
'No,' Seamus answered in his mind. He continued to walk 'No, it's not worth shit, but that doesn't mean you can prevent it. Damn my father for being a loving bastard. Damn my mother for being such a saucy bitch. Damn Brendan for caring, and damn the rest of them for looking up to me! It's their own fault I'm like this.'
Just another block, and he would be at the enterance. There's a small hole in the fencing, but he's thin even by Earther standards, and should be able to pull himself through. Alls he would have to do after that is sneak his way to the center of the building, planting strategically placed bombs as he went, steal the information, and--
"H-help..." a voice croaked in the darkness. Seamus jumped dispite himself, and disappeared into the shadows. He followed the noise of a sudden coughing fit to a patch of darkness not three feet infront of him. Another couple of steps and he could of been a goner. "Pl...please... help me..." more coughing. Seamus weighed the choices in his head.
Help the stranger, get side-tracked, arrive at stronghold later then he already was, and get no reward. Don't help the stranger, arrive slightly earlier, and still get no reward.
"Easy there," Seamus said reluctantly, walking forwards. He could dimly make out the outline of a boy lying there. "Are you hurt? I've got some bandages here..."
"N-no..." the boy laughed. "No... but thank you..."
"You ask for help, then don't want it?" Seamus glared at him. He started to leave, not bothering to waste his time.
"Wait!" the boy called desperately, then started to cough again. Seamus sighed irritably, but waited for him to finish coughing. "C-could... could you help... me?"
"I offered already, smart ass," Seamus hissed at him. "And you said no."
"I'm too... too far," another small cough. "Too far gone... could you, kill me?" Seamus was shocked to say the least; that wasn't a new request, but he had never been asked personally to kill someone, let alone someone he didn't know. "And..."
"A catch," Seamus muttered under his breathe. "I should of known..."
"Could you, maybe... help my sister?" the boy asked. Seamus' dead eyes stared at him blankly. "She... she was captured... just recently, by the Nietzscheans... they took her to that building... right there, that one." Seamus almost couldn't breathe; innocent people where in that building? How could he blow it up now, without having to bite his lip for a few tense minutes before he pushed the button on his remote?
"One damn slave isn't worth my time," Seamus snapped. "Your sister will die a short death, don't worry."
"No!" The boy cried. Seamus could hear sobs that turned into even more violent coughs. "No... please, have mercy on her, she's precious to me... even if you only push her out onto the streets, just... please make sure that she doesn't die in the hands of the Nietzscheans?" Seamus sighed again.
"If I promise will you shut up and die already?" Seamus asked him, only to recieve what could of been a laugh.
"Yes," the boy said, tiredly. "Yes, I'm ready to die now... thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," Seamus growled at him. Without laying a hand on the boy, he turned and left.
"Erskine!" The boy called hoarshly. "Ask for Erskine!" Seamus ignored him, and continued on his way. The hole in the fencing was close, and as soon as he got to it, he slipped through. He molded to the shadows easily, as it all seemed to be tinted a dull red. He shook his head a little to clear it, but it didn't work. He continued, pausing whenever he thought he heard someone coming.
Slipping into the stronghold itself was easy enough. Find an air vent, use his nanowelder to cut it off of the wall, pull himself in, and start to squirm as quietly as possible through the walls. Every once in awhile he got a view of a room below him, and once or twice he stopped to weld a bomb to the roof of the vent, but other then that his small journey was uneventfull. In fact, he doubted he would come across any trouble at all during this 'mission'.
That's when he found out the bad news.
He had come to the end of the vents, and the only way out was to make a hole and fall straight down. He started to do so, dispite what the circumstancesmight be. As soon as he banged on the hunk of metal, causing it to fall with a loud clatter, he realised what the secret information was.
A small slave camp, right in their very own stronghold.
Faces looked up at him, curious as to what he was doing, and why he was there. Some of the faces where hopeful, others worried. Many were scared. He turned around in the vents, easier then someone bigger would of done, and lowered himself through the makeshift hole until he was hanging by his fingertips. Just as he was going to let go and hope he didn't break his leg, hands grabbed onto his knees and shins, tugging lightly. With moment nervousness, he let go, only to be caught, and settled down on the ground.
No one made a sound.
"Who are you all?" Seamus found himself asking, as he pushed through the crowd. He needed to find the exit.
"Lab specimens," one lonely voice said quietly. Seamus didn't look to see who it belonged to.
"Let me go!!" a crying voice called out, distant, yet coming closer. Seamus followed to sound of footsteps. "Let! Me! Go!"
"Stop fighting, kludge!" a rough voice responded, followed by the sharp sound of flesh-on-flesh. The crying continued, but no protests came. Seamus tried to break through the last little wall of people, but someone stopped him. He turned to glare at the person, who ended up being an old man.
"If they see you," the old man muttered. "They'll either kill you, your add you as another specimen. Let them leave, then you can look at what you want, stranger." Seamus nodded, seeing the logic in this, and waited.
The sound of a lock being forced open nearly deafened him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Something was shoved into the crowd of people, causing someone to push him backwards, and the crying became louder. When he opened his eyes, the lock was being forced closed again, and everything seemed to be redder...
"It is safe now, stranger," the old man said. The crowd parted, surrounding him and the crying person who had been shoved into the cell. The person was collasped onto the floor, hugging themself tightly. "Speak."
"What are you specimens for?" Seamus barked, eyes narrowing at the people around him.
"Sceince project they want to perfect," the old man answered. "Also, a few of us are lost each week as they try something else, but no one has returned alive to figure out what."
"Why won't they speak for themselves?" Seamus barked out again. The old man smiled a yellow, toothy smile.
"You drop down from the sky, like a god," the old man said lightly. "Or, more approprietly, a messenger sent by the Divine. They dare not speak, in fear that they shall anger you, and that you will not let them out."
"And you know this, how?" Seamus glared at him.
"It has happened several times before," the old man explained. "Though you are the first to drop from the sky like you did. Will you leave without us, or set us free?" For the second time that night, Seamus weighed his choices.
Save them, have his presence known, most likely not get to set off his bombs, and the possibility of getting caught again. Don't save them, don't get to set off bombs anyways, and risk getting caught as he tries to steal the information.
"Does anyone know if they have this information written down?" Seamus asked, looking around him. No one answered. "Come on... has anyone been close enough to see if they have any information on discs, flexis, or paper!"
"N-no..." the voice startled him somewhat. He looked down at the crying figure, who inturn looked up at him. It was a girl, and her merky, hazel eyes made a small impression on him before sinking into redness as well. "I... I was j-just there... they have n-no... no discs."
"Okay," Seamus sighed. No solid information, so he could risk setting them free. "Thanks. Now..." he turned back to the old man. "I'll let you all out of here, but you guys have to help me back into the vents, not leave this cell for awhile, and then get out of here as soon as possible, okay?" The old man nodded eagerly, and smiled. Seamus, muttering curses under his breathe, pushed his way over to the barred door, and using his nanowelder once again, started to cut them a way out.
Once he was done, he removed all the bandages, bandanas and shrillers that he had on his tool belt, placing them on the ground.
"Use these wisely," he grunted, as he moved back towards the hole.
"Thank you," someone said. It was followed by another, and another, and soon the cell was filled with a soft hum of 'thank you's. Seamus ignored them as he instructed a few tall, study men to stand underneath the hole and help him to stand on their shoulders. Once balanced, he reached as high as he could, the murmur of 'thank you' still there, and calculated that he was about two feet too short. Sucking in a deep, shuddering breathe, he jumped...
And grabbed onto the edge of the makeshift hole. He panted for a moment, before he dragged himself up. It took him awhile, but he made it, and laid there for another moment, just thinking.
"Stranger!" the voice of the old man called around the murmurs. Seamus turned slowly, and looked down at them all. "How ever can we thank you?" Seamus was about to tell them to screw off and live, when he remembered.
"Anyone here Erskine?" he asked. The murmuring grew more incoherent, 'Erskine' coming to the teen's ears every once in awhile.
"Here..." a small voice said. The voice was trapped beneath the crowd, but they parted as much as they could, to show the crying girl who had told him that there was no written information. "I'm Erskine..."
"Bring her up here," Seamus sighed out. It was only moments before the girl was being hoisted into the air, and Seamus reached down to grab her hand. She looked up at him fearfully, but let him pull her up into the vents, helping out as soon as she could.
Backed up now, he studied her red washed face. It was thin and worn, but not as much as many others as he had seen, suggesting that she got a little more food a little more often. Her hair was as dirty as anyone elses, looking only slightly tiddier in the braid it was twisted into. Her eyes were rimmed with dark lashes, and glistened with tiny crystal tears that made pathes in the grim on her face.
"Follow me," Seamus told her, as he turned around again. "And keep quiet." The girl seemed all too happy to do so, and several minutes later, when Seamus fell a little too loudly out of the vents, she followed. Seamus looked around tiredly as he stood up with her, and led her back through a maze of shadows. A few moments later though, the entire compound was flooded with lights. "Shit!"
He ran. He couldn't tell if 'Erskine' were following him, and he didn't really care, he just ran as fast as he could. Soon enough, they came up to the hole in the fence: hadn't it been farther away?
"Go," he hissed, turning around. The girl was still there. Hesitantly, she looked from him to the hole. The sound of a gun shot made her decision, and she pulled herself through easily, and waited for him. "Run!"
"You, kludge! Stop!" The girl shot him an uneasy look, but ran, then Seamus turned. Standing about thirty feet away from him were three Nietzscheans, all of them carrying gause guns. "You let out our slaves, didn't you?" Seamus just grinned at them.
He wished he could see the whites of their eyes, or at least read the panic in them. A sea of red enveloped him warmly, and he let it. It was like a warm embrace after a cold winter night...
When he opened his eyes, he realised that he must of blacked out. Groaning, he closed his eyes again and tried to remember what happened. It all came to a blank.
'No matter,' he said to himself. 'I'll just dream about it sooner or later, like I do all the other times I black out...'
He listened carefully to everything around him. By his guesses, he was lying on his back in an ally somewhere, but someone or something was constantly moving. He groaned again as he tried to move, his entire body starting to ache.
"That's not a good idea," a small voice said; it was familiar. "You got burned pretty badly."
"Burned?" Seamus muttered, opening his eyes again. "How... how did I get burned?"
"The fires," there, from the corner of his eye. She was sitting in semi-darkness, sewing up his shirt. Wait, his shirt?
"What fires?" Seamus asked, frowning slightly. His back spased again as he moved slightly, but the dim chill of the cold ground started to bite at the back of his mind.
"The fires exploded out of no where," 'Erskine' said as an answer. "They were really pretty, but everyone was screaming. When I found you, you were unconsious, thats why everything is coming to you slow right now. I dragged you here to get better. I'm sorry if I made your back worse, I really didn't mean too..."
"How did you get my shirt?" Seamus asked, slowly bringing up a hand to rub his temple. Something warm and sticky coated over his fingers.
"Very carefully," 'Erskine' replied. "Your Harper, aren't you?"
"Yes," Seamus answered reluctantly. "I saw your brother on the streets... seems it was a good idea to save you afterall."
"He always said I was good like that," 'Erskine' giggled. "Don't worry Harper, I'll have you good as new in no time!"
"Call me Seamus," he whispered, closing his eyes again. "Or Shay, or anything... just not Harper." The girl nodded, though he couldn't see it.
"My name is Tasha," she whispered back. She crawled over to him, and placed his shirt over his bare chest. "Tasha Erskine. Thank you for saving me Seamus..."
With that, he fell back to sleep, praying for it to be a dreamless one.