Revelation
The Krak-Karov Volcano, Russia; Tuesday, June 14, 9:56 P.M…
Sly heard the gunshot. Then he heard a grunt.
It wasn't his.
Sly's eyes shot open, and he saw that the gun had, in the last moment, been turned ever so slightly to the left. He spun around and saw that the bullet had hit the chest of the guard behind and next to him.
There was a ragged, red hole in the guard's black shirt, just to the right of his heart. His eyes widened for a moment, then squinted shut hard in pain. He stumbled backwards, dropping his AK-47, which clattered to the carpet below, making absolutely no sound aside from a slight thump. A brief gasp escaped from him.
In shock, Sly instinctively stepped back, out of the way of the badger's aim. Sly looked back at the badger holding his own pistol, eyes wide with fear.
At that moment, he saw a terrifying transformation. This badger, who, moments earlier, had a sense of formality, neatness, and calmness to him, now turned into a crazed sociopath. Sly could see it in his eyes, now much wider and gleaming with the crazed look of a psycho. A grin slowly spread across his face, and a sinister chuckle could be heard as he took aim and started firing again.
The second shot hit just below the first shot, and the guard stumbled backwards another step before crumbling to the floor below, lying on his back on the red carpet. By now, a thin stream of blood was emerging from both bullet holes, merging into one due to their close proximity to each other, and leaking down the black shirt and onto the red carpet, where they seemed to vanish due to blending in with the fabric so neatly and perfectly.
Sly turned away from the dying guard and back at his clearly demented murderer. Now, the badger was openly laughing maniacally, taking aim at the guard on the floor with various poses. He fired the third shot by twisting the gun around behind his head, holding it upside down and firing just next to his ear. Then he brought it back around and fired the fourth shot with the gun sideways. Then he moved his left arm over the gun and fired the fifth shot from underneath his arm. He then bent backwards slightly and aimed the gun through between his legs, firing a sixth shot. He then tossed the gun to his other hand and fired barely after catching the gun and getting a firm enough grip on it. He then turned around, turning his back to the guard, and aimed over his shoulder, firing blindly behind him. He then spun around three times, eventually stopping to face forward again, and fired the ninth shot. All the while, he was grinning wickedly and laughing evilly.
By now, Sly dared not look back at the helpless guard, knowing that he was already dead and that the sight was not pretty. Besides that, he found himself stupefied at this man's clear and blatantly obvious display of madness.
The smoke from the barrel slowly blowing away, the badger lowered the pistol, letting out a few more lingering laughs, then shook his head.
"That, Sergeant Bolan, is the price you must pay for failing to obey my orders."
He then turned around, still shaking his head and chuckling.
Then, "Oh."
He turned around and looked right at the still-horrified Sly.
"I almost forgot about you." He raised the pistol and aimed right at Sly.
Sly's eyes widened again. This time, he knew that there was no one else in the room for this madman to shoot.
The badger pulled the trigger, only for a slight click! to sound.
It took a moment for Sly to realize it, then relax.
With an amused smile, the badger once again burst into a fit of uncontrollable, psychotic laughter.
"Bwa-hahahahahahaha-HA! You actually fell for that, didn't you? HA! Oh, you're pathetic. This is your own damn weapon, for God's sake! Do you still not know that this particular model of Smith & Wesson only takes a maximum of nine shots per magazine? Or were you simply not counting the amount of times I shot at Sergeant Bolan there?"
Sly, still shaking from the previous display of madness and the near scare of almost being shot at himself, found himself unable to compose his response.
The badger chuckled again, shaking his head and turning around. He walked around the wooden desk, sliding the now-empty pistol along it, where it stopped just in front of his chair. He eased into the black chair and pulled himself closer to the desk.
Once again, Sly saw that amazing and strange transition. It seemed to happen in the moment when the badger had his back to him as he walked back to his chair. The man who sat down so slowly and calmly in his chair, pulling himself closer to the desk and folding his hands on top of the wooden desktop, seemed so cool, calm, and complex compared to the deranged psychopath who had just shot up one of his own guards, who was now lying on the red carpet, blood pouring from all nine wounds, but the carpet itself appearing no different except for a slight wetness.
"Now then, Mr. Cooper. Before we proceed, I would like to introduce you to someone else."
The badger then lifted his head up and looked past Sly. He raised a single hand into the air, and with a single finger, gestured behind Sly. Sly spun around and looked at the dark corner of the room that was just to the left of the elevator door, behind one of the potted saplings. That corner was particularly dark, and Sly couldn't see anyone there.
Then, after a moment, a large coyote emerged from the darkness, wearing a suit similar to the badger. He stepped out, with a firm, strong stance, and folded arms in front of his chest. He glared hard at Sly for a moment, then looked inquisitively at his superior.
Sly turned around sharply and looked back at the badger.
With his raised hand, the badger gestured at the lifeless guard's body, then stuck out his thumb in the hitchhiker sign and flicked it to the right.
Sly turned back.
The coyote nodded, and silently strode over to the body, first stopping to pick up the AK-47 and carefully slip it up the guard's right arm, over his shoulder. He then grabbed the body by both shoulders and dragged it across the carpet to the wall that the badger had gestured at. Sly watched with a confused expression, wondering just what he was doing.
Then, once the coyote had dragged the body up to the metal wall, Sly noticed a large square hatch in the wall, with a vertical handle on the top, almost like a laundry chute. The coyote grabbed the handle and pulled, bringing the hatch out and down, revealing a dark metal chute within.
Then, in one effortless motion, the coyote lifted the body up even higher, and then heaved the body up and into the chute. The legs and waist area hung out of the shaft, so the coyote effortlessly grabbed them and lifted them up, shoving them down the shaft as well. Once completely in the shaft, just barely big enough for the massive guard's body, the body effortlessly slid down and out of view, heading wherever the shaft ended. The coyote nonchalantly brushed himself off, then grabbed the handle once again and lifted the hatch back into place, closing it. He turned back to face the two observers.
"Thank you, Hans." The badger replied. He then gestured down at Sly.
Sly's eyes widened, his fear renewed.
Then he shaped his hand back into the thumbs-up shape, only with the thumb closed down against the other curled-up fingers. He then turned his hand to the left as if starting an ignition.
Hans nodded and advanced towards Sly.
Sly instantly went on the defensive, spinning to face the coyote.
However, the coyote stopped just inches from Sly. Then, in a heartbeat, his hand shot up again, dangling a single bronze key from a small metal key ring, jingling it several times. Sly glanced at the key, then back at the shaft that the guard's body had just been dropped into. He glanced back at the coyote, incredulous at how the coyote had snatched the key off of the guard's belt without Sly noticing.
Sly turned to face the badger, who simply stared right back at him.
"I do assume that you would feel more comfortable with those handcuffs off, wouldn't you?"
Sly decided to just go along with it, not saying anything. He turned around, turning his back to Hans.
In a single, gentle effort, Hans grabbed Sly's wrists, raised them up, and quickly unlocked the handcuffs, pulling them off of his wrists smoothly. Sly brought his arms back around to the front, rubbing his wrists, which felt as if a massive weight had just been lifted off of them.
"Now then, to further extend my hospitality to you, would you care for a seat?" The badger leaned back in his own chair and gestured at the single chair on the other side of the desk, which had four legs, and was shorter, skinnier, and less luxurious than the badger's chair.
"Or would you prefer to stay standing, like big stupid Hans over there?"
Sly turned around and looked at the coyote, who was just retreating to the dark corner from which he had come. He then turned around, resumed a firm stance, folded his arms, and stared hard at Sly, not flinching or breaking his bearing for even an instant.
"When you are standing, you make yourself appear to be a bigger threat, and you seem more likely to attack me at any time. Sitting down, that moron Hans will know that you are cooperating and will not be much trouble."
Sly turned around at the coyote manservant, who didn't seem to react at all to the insult that his superior just said.
Sly looked back with a confused look.
"Oh, yes. I forgot to mention. He's deaf."
Sly's confusion vanished as he understood, but that certainly didn't improve his mood.
"Now, as I was saying, would you prefer to sit down on your own, or do I have to call Hans to assist you into your seat?"
Sly, after a final deep breath, slowly shuffled over to the chair and slowly sat down, his hands tightly gripping the armrests, and leaning back hard against the back of the chair, stiff and unmoving.
Satisfied, the badger folded his hands once again, interlocking his fingers and placing them on top of the desk.
"Now, what shall we talk about?" As he spoke this last sentence, his grin returned, and a cocky tone was easily detectable in his voice.
The cockiness made Sly's cacophony of jumbled feelings – shock, terror, stupor, amazement – all instantly transform into one feeling: Anger.
Despite his anger, Sly managed to keep himself composed and asked the first question on his mind.
"Who are you?"
The badger, after grinning for a moment, replied, "Of course. How could I have forgotten my manners? A host always introduces himself to his guest."
"This isn't a dinner party, pal."
"Quite right. This is indeed a rather serious matter. But, as far as you're concerned, you have all the time in the world. I will answer all your questions over a nice, long cigarette. No, no, what am I thinking? This calls for celebration! I shall have myself a delicious Cuban!"
The badger gleefully leaned to the side and pulled open a drawer in his desk, taking out a thin, shiny metal box with gold plating. He eased himself back into the massive, black, leather chair behind him. It rocked back and forth briefly as he settled back into it. He flipped the case open, revealing a row of neatly-aligned Cuban cigars.
"Ahhh…The finest. Imported straight from Cuba. These weren't cheap, let me tell you. But they were certainly worth it. Would you care for one?"
Sly simply gave him a blank, hard glare as his response.
"Very well, then."
He casually lifted one out, closed the lid, and placed it back in the drawer, sliding it closed. He bit off the end of the cigar, then spit it out onto the floor. Sly briefly shook in disgust at the unsanitary behavior. He placed the cigar back in his mouth and withdrew the golden lighter. He flicked it on once more and held it to the end of the cigar, holding it there for a moment until it was thoroughly lit. He inhaled deeply on it, the other end glowing a bright orange. He savored the sweet flavor before removing it between two fingers and blowing a puff of smoke into the air.
After taking a few longer drags on the cigar and kicking his feet up onto the desk, he continued.
"Now, in response to your first and foremost question: My name is Maximilian Vlotho."
Even through the intense atmosphere, Sly briefly assumed a stunned look at the mention of the name.
"Vlotho…I heard about you. You were the extremist Russian general who committed suicide when the U.S.S.R. officially collapsed. The video went viral worldwide and was huge. You were considered the foremost example of extreme Russian Communists."
"Yes. Of course…that rope was designed to break after a mere three seconds, and it did so right after the video abruptly cut off. But it was apparently enough to convince the world that I was dead. I made sure that it was taped and publicly released, as a statement to the world that the true spirit of the once-great Soviet Union had died. The pathetic country you now call 'Russia' is a sad reflection of what it once was."
"Nice speech. You really should consider running for president."
"These people don't deserve me. My visions and ideals are far too clever, too sophisticated for them to handle."
"OK, I get it. So, you're a crazy Communist Stalin-type who wants to avenge the Soviet Union? You should've been in some of the James Bond movies."
"You think you're funny, don't you? You don't even know the whole story yet."
"Oh?"
Vlotho placed the cigar between his teeth and clasped his hands together in front of his chest before he continued.
"You see, the humble origins of this fine establishment trace all the way back to the prime of the Soviet Union, during what you call the Cold War. I and several others founded an organization called The Order of the Black Axe."
"Some kind of KGB deal?"
"In some ways. More like a Soviet Free Masons. We forever vowed that we would keep the spirit of Communist Russia alive, no matter what happened. We always dreamed of making our glorious comeback. We dreamed of exacting revenge on Germany, the United States, and so many other countries that have ruined us in the past. But not with nuclear power. No, we wanted to look at different kinds of weapons. Weaponry that no one could ever dream of! Weaponry that would be considered out of this world. Perhaps…biological warfare. Of course, we knew that the government, even a government as strong as the Soviet Union, wouldn't dare go near biological weaponry. Especially after Chernobyl. So we kept quiet about our existence. And we turned to rather…unorthodox methods, to achieve the monetary supplies."
"Thievery. Crime."
"If that is what you will call it, then yes. And many of our agents were extremely stealthy and skilled in the ways of the trade, using darkness as their disguise, and working quickly and efficiently. Our men had spread out all across the nation, and even down into southern Asia and eastern Europe, pulling off all sorts of high-level heists, returning with loads of artifacts and money. We soon had enough firearms for an army three times the size of our forces. And we only grew wealthier and wealthier. We had managed to bribe some renowned scientists to start doing research for us. We had high hopes. Everything was running smoothly. But, unfortunately, our timing was terrible. You see, the organization was founded in 1987. What happened four years later?"
"The Soviet Union began to collapse."
"Precisely. My, you are much smarter than I thought, Cooper. I thought your turtle friend was the one with booksmarts?"
"He is. I just happen to know some of this myself."
"I see. Anyway, as I was saying: As the collapse began, our plans started to fail. Some of our men faltered and began abandoning the idea. Only a few. But, nonetheless, it was inevitable that it was going to happen. And, by the end of 1991, it was over. Our organization had no purpose."
"So what happened then?"
"Well, you see, first of all, we did not have to worry about being captured. Like I said, we kept our identity a secret. We knew that our men had committed crimes, but as long as we remained secret, then they would never come after us. We only needed something to, as you would say, 'seal the deal.'"
"The video of your fake suicide."
"Precisely."
"But why? If your organization was kept secret like you said…"
"Our government back then, as you know, was the kind that kept tabs on everyone. Even high-ranking military officials such as myself. A few times, perhaps some of our members were not so subtle as they slid through the back alleys of Moscow for our rare meetings. But, at every single meeting, I made sure to clearly present myself as the leader. Thus, if I was declared dead, any possible secret organization would be declared disbanded. So, with that, we were free. We did not have to worry about investigations leading to our discovery, and we did not have to worry about them capturing our headquarters. We did not have a headquarters, you see; we always remained mobile. We never settled in one set location for too long.
"Thus, we had time to plan our next move. You see, we still had the men, the money, the weapons, and the ideas. We had this perfect group assembled. We were not going to just dispel it just like that. We knew that we had to do something. Something great. Something that would forever change the history of the world as we know it. Finally, we realized."
"Realized what?"
"That we could never change history. Changing history is impossible. So, we settled with the next alternative: Erasing history."
The last two words did not process through Sly's mind. So he simply repeated, "Erasing history."
"Since then, we changed our organization's name. We were no longer the Order of the Black Axe. We are now ORNWOR."
"ORNWOR?"
"The Organization for the New World Order and Regime."
"You're insane."
"Am I, Cooper? Am I? No, my dear boy, erasing history is not insane. It is not as hard as you would think. After all, Thomas Paine once said: 'We have it in our power to begin the world over again.'"
"I'm sure that the meaning he had in mind was far different from the meaning you have in mind. I'm sure that Thomas Paine would never want anything to do with the likes of you, either."
"Regardless, Cooper. You still miss the point. There are many men who came before me who have come quite close to accomplishing this goal, and proving Mr. Paine's words right. International conquerors of their time. Genghis Khan. Attila the Hun. Alexander the Great. Napoleon Bonaparte. Adolf Hitler. Each one always coming slightly closer to success than the previous one. Now, I am the next one in line.
"To a certain extent, my chamber here is a perfect representation of that. It is a collection of various pieces of history – specifically, art – spanning centuries, even millennia! It is the ultimate juxtaposition of all the major eras of history, combined into this one place where the means to erase that very history have been engineered. Think of it as lining up all of the damned before they are gunned down by their own children. All of history, represented in here, shall be wiped out forever."
Vlotho eased out of the chair and walked around his desk. Sly, remaining glued to his seat, allowed only his eyes to follow the sinister badger as he walked around the room.
"These pots, for example, containing small saplings, are from the Greek…" He pointed with his cigar to the one on the right of the elevator door, "…and Roman empires." He gestured to the other.
He walked along the wall to the right of the elevator door. "These paintings cover the great Renaissance era, with such ingenious minds as Van Gogh and Da Vinci. Even paintings spanning through the early 20th century…" He gestured to the wall on the left. "…are contained here.
"Even this carpet, in a way, is a kind of art representative of its time. It may seem simple to you, but believe me, it wasn't cheap. This desk…"
He slowly brushed his fingers along the smooth, polished Oak as he strode back to his chair.
"…carved of fine Oak in the mid-1800's." He fell back into the chair. "That chandelier, manufactured in 1924. Even the walls, floor, and ceiling of this chamber are a kind of art. They, like every other structure throughout the rest of the facility, are constructed of the metal that is native only to this very Volcano. A representation of modern day, as you and I sit here right now at this very moment in time; completing the elaborate timeline that I have so delicately set up in my own kind of museum…or, rather, mausoleum. A final burial chamber for death's latest victim: History."
"You talk about destroying over 5,000 years of history as if you're stepping on a bug. It's not as easy as you think."
"Oh, but it is, Cooper! You want to know the secret? All it takes is the right kind of firepower. Just the right level of danger, of weaponry, of destruction. We were well aware of this solution when we founded our organization. We needed something…a massive, powerful, devastating weapon that could put the atomic bomb to shame. That would make nuclear weapons look like firecrackers. Tell me something, Cooper: What else happened in the year 1990? What happened in your life in that year?"
Sly paused for a moment before it clicked. "That was the year I defeated Clockwerk…the first time, that is."
"Exactly! Yes! You are exactly right. You see, Cooper, we had been studying Clockwerk for quite some time prior to that incident. We knew, from what little background information there was on that mysterious creature, that it originated in, and was currently hiding somewhere in, Russia. We had no other leads, no other basic information. But we knew, from what few scattered surviving reports from survivors of his fury that there were, hidden away in police files, that this creature was extraordinary. A giant robotic owl that had lived for centuries, and was as large and powerful as he was? We knew that this kind of strength, of power, was exactly what we were looking for. We searched frantically for a potential hideout for that creature. We sent reconnaissance teams out all across Russia, searching the most remote and isolated locations in hopes of finding even a single trace of the mysterious, elusive beast. For two years, we searched that way. Then, in the year 1989, we struck gold.
"It was May of 1989. One of our seven-member teams had found the Volcano. For many years, it had remained completely deserted. No settlements nearby, no established roads for miles, no civilization anywhere. Plus, it was geographically isolated, just as it is today: In a crater-like valley, surrounded by miles of forests. It was perfect. They radioed in and gave us only a few bits of information. I will still never forget it: 'Incredible. Many metal structures built into mountainside. Massive, owl-like tower in summit. Many strange creatures, gleaming in the light like metal, flying around.' Unfortunately, they had not remained subtle enough. Two days later, just a mere day before the majority of our forces arrived at the area, we received the distressed transmission from them. Only frantic screams and cries for help were distinguishable. There were gunshots and explosions in the background, beyond all of the static from the rough and poorly-received message. And…the screeching. The horrible, demonic screeching we could hear. Whether or not it was our men or the beasts, we did not know. When we arrived, they were all gone. There was blood everywhere, wrecked equipment, smashed guns…it looked like a true battlefield. It served as our warning sign, and as the sign that we definitely had found what we were looking for.
"Thus, we made camp several miles away. We set up our temporary headquarters there, in the woods surrounding the Volcano. We kept a strict surveillance of the area from afar, studied it, observed it, analyzed it. We occasionally caught glimpses of…him. He was a magnificent creature; a wonder to behold."
"Easy for you to say."
Ignoring Sly, but taking advantage of the interruption to take another long drag on his cigar, the badger continued. "That is how we ended up discovering your little group hiding out in the forests nearby. We figured that, just as we did, anyone who discovered our base would use the forests as cover, believing themselves to be safe. But oh no, we keep a tight watch over the forests around this base, with various methods such as radar, motion sensors, cameras, and even microphones. We were simply lucky that Clockwerk didn't think of using those methods first. So, when we discovered your unannounced presence, we decided to sit back and wait. Due to the microphones, we could hear everything you all said down there. So we had all of our personnel alerted to your presence, and they were ordered to not react to your little toy helicopter, even if they saw it, while it was buzzing around like an insect. Once it was gone, we waited for a little while longer, and then moved in."
"That's how you managed to kidnap Penelope. Where is she? Tell me where she is." Sly's grip on the armrests tightened.
"Be patient, boy. I'll get to that in a bit. Now, as I was saying, we made camp several miles away and managed to take a few pictures of him whenever he was out on his rounds, and from there drew possible schematics of his ingenious and unique design. We tried several times to make our own prototypes, initially testing out the possible structure and design, all the while constructing one large duplicate consisting of all our gathered information put together.
"Of course, just one year later, as we finished our duplicate and prepared to test it out, a sudden invasion took place at the Volcano."
The badger shot a glare at Sly, who replied with a blank stare right back, unafraid to acknowledge his being blamed.
"We dared not get involved, for fear of blowing our cover. But, of course, we were horrified as we watched the great beast be destroyed by a certain arrogant raccoon and his accomplices. At the moment when the great Clockwerk fell into the lava, we instantly mobilized our forces to move in and try to prevent any further damage…but, due to our great distance, we arrived just too late. You and your friends had left. All that was left was that meddling Interpol officer."
Sly perked up at the first mention of Carmelita. Surprisingly enough, his late spouse had slipped from mind over the course of this melodramatic speech. But the final word in the last sentence brought her memory right back, and his bitterness was consumed by a whole new, reformed anger.
"Carmelita…what did you do to her?"
"Of course, we saw a perfect opportunity for us upon seeing the current state of the facility after your group had left. We just needed to get rid of the officer."
Sly balled his hands into fists, tempted to attack the badger were it not for his sudden remembrance of the deaf manservant behind him.
"But, we knew that if she were to suddenly go...'missing,' Interpol forces would swarm in and never leave until they found something. So, we waited for her to fall asleep about 12 hours later, and we easily and silently sliced through her handcuffs, quickly moving out before she awoke. We were surprised at how quickly she had left, apparently robbed of all communication devices she had previously had on her person."
Sly couldn't help but crack a brief mental grin.
"And then, during the brief two-week period in which she had left, we worked fast. We moved in with all of our equipment and weapons, and immediately worked as fast as we could to extract the original Clockwerk from the lava slowly, carefully, and efficiently. As we did that, we planted our prototype in the lava, in nearly the exact same spot and position that the first one had been in. We even severed its head to go the extra mile for authenticity. Every single hole or char mark on the original, we did exactly to our replica so that they could never see the difference."
Sly's eyes widened.
"You…what?"
Vlotho grinned a sinister grin. "Oh, yes, Cooper. You heard me right. We switched the real Clockwerk with a false one, knowing that the authorities would be back, most likely with an entire army behind them. It was a slow process, let me tell you. We had barely managed to get out of the vicinity with the real Clockwerk's remains before they arrived in helicopters and tanks. We were surprised that our decoy survived being in the lava as it was. Of course, Clockwerk's main body wasn't even really in the lava at all, merely resting on top of it. It was his head that was partially submerged. So, as I was saying, they came back, with that fox at the head of their forces. They secured the perimeter, with helicopters and sentries armed to the teeth surrounding any possible entrance or exit. They completely dissected that once-glorious base, searching through all of the wreckage, crumbled and smashed machinery, burned or melted rooms, the sabotaged control room…right up to the remains of what they thought was Clockwerk."
"They took the wrong one. They restored the wrong one. They put the wrong one on display at the Cairo Museum."
"Correct, correct, and correct. After they extracted 'Clockwerk,' they left a fairly large group of personnel behind to inspect the rest of the base. The high levels of radioactivity were cause for them to seal off the perimeter, labeling it dangerous. After barely a week, at least a dozen of their men were suddenly struck down ill. Deathly ill."
"How?"
"It turns out that the metal that Clockwerk and everything else was constructed out of, which was a previously unheard-of substance native only to this Volcano, has a rather dangerous reaction to molten lava. If completely submerged long enough, the metal is completely dissolved and destroyed. But, after it is destroyed, it releases a deadly gas. A highly radioactive gas that is extremely dangerous to all who inhale it or inhale it second-hand from others who are infected. It started a vicious chain reaction, you see. A dozen were hit by it immediately as they inspected the remains of the Death Ray and other materials submerged completely in lava that were made out of that metal. Thus, at least a dozen more were infected by them, and it spread. They soon realized the terrible disease they had on their hands. To avoid spreading it to the outside world, they were forced to…dispose of the already deceased and the alive, but infected, members of the group. The few survivors, among which was your beloved wife, barely even tried to pack up their equipment. They just simply left in quite a hurry. They reported the dangerous potential of the Volcano and its material, and tried to convince the Russian government to drop a bomb directly on the Volcano and completely neutralize it. However, seeing as how this was just a year before the collapse, when the government was still in chaos, they found that the government was more preoccupied with other pressing matters than destroying one little Volcano in eastern Russia. Plus, with Chernobyl still fresh in the Russian mindset, the idea of a voluntary nuclear explosion anywhere didn't sound too pleasant. So, all they were able to accomplish was sealing off the area the best they could – which wasn't very well – and have their only enforcement of this to be a warning. 'Enter premises at your own risk.'"
"That's why Clockwerk, or what they thought was Clockwerk, never spread the same disease. Because it was fake."
"Precisely. So, after that, we began our research and experimentations with complete freedom. Less than a year later, the great Soviet Union collapsed. But, as I mentioned before, we managed to stay strong, and the research and experimentations remained ongoing. The only flaw we faced was the possibility of the truth getting out about our prototype being the wrong one. Especially when we found out about their theft from the Cairo Museum by the KLAWW Gang. Because of that, we never established an official base. We kept all of our equipment – even the Clockwerk itself – in tents or trailers, ready to move out in less than an hour if we needed to.
"But, as our informants found out from stolen confidential police reports, we found that whatever criminal means those crooks used the parts for, they apparently worked just fine. It proved to us that our prototype was a success…and that was merely in pieces. Of course, it was no substitute for the real thing. Our prototype could have never been purely immortal. Would Arpeggio's attempted hypnotic lightshow of hate have actually worked? Of course not!"
"That's how Clockwerk…or, at that time, Clock-La, fell apart so easily. And completely disintegrated."
"Right again, my boy. You see, when we had constructed our prototype, our research had led us to believe that Clockwerk had some sort of center. Some kind of omnipotent power source that kept him going. Thus, with our prototype, we developed the Hate Chip. Without it, as you pointed out, our prototype was nothing. We even designed it to wither away should the Chip be destroyed, as a kind of self-destruct system, if you will. When we watched that story unfold on the news, we were actually relieved to find out about the destruction of our prototype. Why, you may ask? Because after that, no one would ever find out that it wasn't the real thing. So, for the last 13 years after that, we've been free to study the original without the fear of the authorities, or anyone, discovering the truth and returning. So, this whole time, we've had the original masterpiece here in our secure facility, which we built here at the base of the Volcano following the incident in 1992. After 2 years, the gas had worn off, and it was perfectly safe to return. We constructed every single building in this massive facility out of the same metal that Clockwerk and his base had been constructed out of. And just as we had hoped, no one has ever come back here. This is the perfect, ideal location: Isolated, deserted, and well-protected with natural barriers, such as the mountains and forests, plus with the still-lingering warning by the government. We've been free to work on our masterpiece, inspired by none other than the original Clockwerk."
"'Inspired by' the original Clockwerk?"
"Well, what do you think we were able to do, boy? The original, as powerful and technologically-advanced as it was, had spent too much time in the lava and had been dealt too much damage by the gunshots. But, despite that, I think it was the severing of the head at the end of your Cane. That did it. Only after the lava worked on its neck, of course. But the bottom line is, it was ruined. Melted, twisted, charred. It didn't work anymore, and never would again. But we were able to study its design, its little tricks and secrets, and completely replicate it."
"You…you can't mean…"
"Oh, yes, my dear boy. I do mean. While the first Clockwerk himself truly was a force to be reckoned with, his relatively small size compromised his true power and advanced technology. We have corrected the mistake, and done the impossible; perfected the perfection. We have created a Second Clockwerk."
"You…you couldn't have. I have to see it."
"You want to see it? Very well. It is only customary to grant a dead man his last request."
Sly narrowed his eyes, glowering at the arrogant badger.
The badger casually pulled his feet off of the desk and scooted his chair closer to the desk. He reached for the keyboard and started typing rapidly, his eyes switching between Sly and the computer screen.
After he finished and pressed the "ENTER" button, he pulled his hands back, folded them in front of him once more, kicked his feet up onto the desk again, and nodded behind Sly.
"Enjoy the show."
Sly then heard a low metallic whirring behind him. He turned around in his seat to see a massive flat-screen slowly lowering down from the ceiling. At the same time, the lights in the office dimmed like a movie theatre.
The screen was completely white. Then it turned to static, completely silent as the gray, white, and black covered the whole screen. Then it turned switched to the video.
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The image on the camera was the face of a single scientist; a male fox with square glasses and a slightly echoing voice. He was wearing a white lab coat, gray button-up shirt, matching gray trousers, and black shoes. He was reaching one hand up above camera, turning it on. He then stepped back and briefly adjusted his coat. There was a metal wall behind the scientist, with vertical lines of rivets lining the walls.
"The time is 22:45. Our master Project, the Second Clockwerk, has been completed. We are beginning our initial field tests now."
He then reached out and grabbed the camera on both sides, turning it around slowly to face away from him. As it turned, it passed by two other scientists standing at a long control board and working away, typing, writing on clipboards, and one yelling out a command to workers off-screen in Russian. The camera was now facing out into the middle of what appeared to be a massive hangar, the metal walls now much farther away and stretching high up to an off-camera ceiling. Most of the area at the base of the walls were covered by shadows and impossible to see into clearly. All of the light in the hangar was instead focused on the dead center of the chamber, with every single one of the four massive spotlights – one in each corner of the ceiling – aimed down at that spot.
Hanging suspended from dozens and dozens of steel cables, raised about 15 feet off the ground, was the machine. It looked exactly like Clockwerk. However, one single scientist was below it, checking on one of the five thick metal rods in the floor, helping to keep the Second Clockwerk suspended, in addition to the cables. With this one, average-sized man right there for comparison, it was easy to see just how large this machine truly was.
The lone scientist finished inspecting the metal rod. He quickly turned and scuffled away from the massive creation.
Off-screen, the fox spoke up in thick Russian, his voice resonating on the intercom system within the hangar: "Весь персонал, ясно полигоне! Весь персонал, ясно полигоне!"
Subtitles on the bottom of the screen translated: "All personnel, clear the testing area! All personnel, clear the testing area!"
The scientist who had been underneath the Second Clockwerk was still moving away from it, and finally made it off-screen.
He then yelled one final confirmation: "Есть полигон подальше от всего персонала?"
"Are all personnel clear of the testing area?"
When there was no response, the fox moved back on camera, quickly moving his face into the picture and saying to it in English: "Very well, so we are now prepared to begin our first field test. First is a conventional AIM-9 Sidewinder missile, air-to-air, short-range."
The camera panned over to a firing station off to the side, at a good distance from the beast. It was a gray metal apparatus on four wheels, with the raised metal arm suspending the missile. The head was facing straight at the Second Clockwerk.
After a few moments of focusing on the missile, and the two scientists who were finishing adjusting the metal arm, the camera turned back to the fox.
"Alright, so it'll be a standard launch. It's aiming straight for its head."
The fox disappeared again, and the camera focused on the Second Clockwerk once more. After reconfirming that all personnel were clear, with the two men at the metal apparatus being the last to leave, he called out:
"Готово! Цель! Огонь!"
After shouting out the commonly-used, three-word phrase, the sound registered off-screen. First it was like the sound of a heavily-amplified gunshot; a sharp report as the missile detached. Then the sound of rushing as it rocketed towards its target. There was barely even a brief streak as it shot past, its speed having increased so drastically, it was hard to tell the difference between the missile itself and the white streak behind it.
Then there was the impact.
The missile itself instantly disappeared in the massive fireball; a blast of bright orange that briefly made the screen itself flash from the light. It struck dead in the center, just above the sharp, curved beak of the Second Clockwerk. The orange blast consumed the entire head, and some of the area of the body immediately around it. Soon, the orange gave way to thick black smoke, surrounding the head of the Second Clockwerk like a deadly veil. It billowed around, growing slightly larger, its thickness still remaining firm and true.
Then it started to lift up. It rose higher and higher towards the ceiling, slowly dissolving away and vanishing to reveal what damage it had done.
There was no damage.
Not even the slightest dent. Not even the slightest scratch. Not even the slightest black char mark. Not even the slightest hint that anything had touched the surface of the mighty machine. It shone pristine and firm, unwavering even after the impact and the force.
As the smoke cleared, there was a raising of voices within the hangar that grew louder and more collected. Cheers, applause, and laughs.
After a few moments, the camera turned back to the fox, who was trying to contain his satisfaction himself, with an obvious grin on his face.
"Success! Success!" He yelled out the same thing in Russian over the intercom, where he was met with a more collective cheer in response.
"As you can see, the thick armor remains not only completely resistant to any attack, but also retains its shine and truly brushes off missiles like dust. Now, we shall conduct a similar experiment with a - ."
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The clip was suddenly cut short. It took a few seconds for Sly to register that it was over. His mouth had already fallen open, and his mind gone blank.
"As you can see for yourself, Cooper, we have accomplished what you could have never imagined." Vlotho's voice registered behind him.
Only when Sly realized how uncomfortable his position turned around in the chair was did he finally and slowly turn around to face his captor. Even then, he didn't look directly at the smug badger. His eyes faced down, towards the bottom of the desk, where the floor met the wood.
All Sly could do was mutter, "It's not possible."
"Oh, it's possible. It's already done. It was completed a couple of days ago. It is much, much larger than the original, of course. Its armor is improved and more impenetrable. We have already tested the most advanced forms of Surface-to-Air and Air-to-Air Missiles on it, and found that they don't even begin to dent it. Its endoskeleton is now reinforced, with no patches between the metal bones. If you will, a sort of metal netting between each main rod to prevent there being any empty space, so that any part of the body is as strong as possible. It is also more agile and faster. It is truly the greatest weapon known to mankind. With its numerous heat-seeking, infrared-vision rocket-launchers and machine-guns that can deploy at any moment, it can unleash a barrage on any target, large or small, air or land, man or machine, that is guaranteed to either completely annihilate, or in some other, way severely cripple or disarm the target within seconds. Plus, we have duplicated what the late leader of the KLAWW Gang, Arpeggio, had originally designed. From the bowels of the Second Clockwerk, we can now deploy – between brief intervals – groups of Mech Eggs containing a new and improved version of the Attack Robots, which can now fly just as regularly as the Robo-Falcons, which we have also improved and duplicated an army of."
"Robo-Falcons? You're constructing Robo-Falcons too?" The worry and nervousness in Sly's voice was so much worse now that his voice almost sounded squeaky.
"Yes, we are. I'm aware that the manufacturing area for the Robo-Falcons is farther off the main path leading directly through the factory up to the elevator to my private quarters here. The construction area for the Attack Robots is also, literally, off the beaten path. You probably never saw any of them. But I am sure that you witnessed the manufacturing of several Mech Eggs at least, correct?"
Sly's blank, unbelieving stare was all the answer that Vlotho needed in order to continue.
"All of the excess Mech Eggs, the ones not produced inside the Second Clockwerk, are to be carried along by the Robo-Falcons, one Egg per Falcon, clutched tightly and safely within their talons. Upon dropping the Mech Egg on the intended target, the Mech Egg will automatically explode, thanks to the explosives already set into the metal casing. However, the Attack Robots within will be completely unharmed, due to the reinforced interior of the Egg. Once the explosion settles down, the Attack Robots shall move in. They shall be considerably faster and more maneuverable than the originals. In addition to the 10,000-voltage bolts of electricity that can be shot as far ahead as 50 feet, the Attack Robots are now outfitted with a bullet-proof shell of the metal native to this Volcano, to insure protection against any kind of conventional gunfire, regular fire, or water. However, they also have a special self-destruct feature which – if they find themselves completely outnumbered and necessary to use – they can use to engulf an entire radius of nearly 1,000 feet in all directions."
"That much power in such a small thing?"
"You'd be surprised, Cooper. The Robo-Falcons, too, also have that ability, which they can use by deliberately flying head-on into their target; like a kamikaze. But that is only to be used as a last-ditch, final moment weapon. The Robo-Falcons are also equipped with the ability to shoot deadly bolts of electricity out of their mouths. And, don't forget: The Robo-Falcons, Mech Eggs, and Attack Robots are all constructed out of the same metal that the original Clockwerk and the Second Clockwerk are both made out of.
"But do you want to know the real punch line, Cooper? These three magnificent kinds of creations will be unstoppable, not because of their metal shield, not because of their superior weaponry, and not because of their futuristic technology. No, these three machines are designed so that they do not run on electricity, convention fuel, coal, or anything else necessary to power a common machine. These machines run on solar power. They draw all energy from the sun. And, even after the sun has set, the collected energy during the day will be enough to keep them operational until the next sunrise, thus making them able to run for 24 hours straight without tiring, overheating, or wearing down."
As Vlotho continued on, Sly's head was spinning. He was still in disbelief from the video. But all of this new information, delivered to him so quickly, suddenly, and plainly, was too much for him to comprehend. So many weapons, in addition to the main one, were now constructed and ready to use, and it had been going on for nearly fifteen years.
"It has been on-going ever since the facility was constructed. As a matter of fact, the factory was one of the very first structures finished of the whole facility, along with my quarters here, and the main hangar that we built to protect the original Clockwerk and the new one, which is that one building out by itself, away from the other buildings. I understand you've taken an interest in that building following your reconnaissance. They are all fully operational and ready to be initiated upon my command. Our plan is to initiate the Second Clockwerk and all of the other weapons exactly 72 hours after the completion of the former. Although, for quite a while, we considered delaying the initiation until only after you and every single one of your accomplices was dead."
"Why?"
"Why do you think? You and your colleagues were the only ones who had any experience with the original Clockwerk. Especially your intelligent friend. The turtle. He had surely taken some schematics, some samples, something that could help you to prepare against the new one. We had hoped to be able to wait the full three days without any interruption or threat. That is why we hired…him to eliminate you all one at a time, and be done long before the initiation."
"'Him'? You mean…that crazy hit man?"
"'That crazy hit man' is the finest in the world. He has been silently working ever since June 6th, when he first killed your wife."
"But after that, it took him five days to catch up to us in LA. It took us barely half a day to get from Paris to LA. Pretty slow, if you ask me."
"Oh, that's merely because you don't know the truth. During that five-day period, he quickly and efficiently eliminated all of the other former members of your gang. King. Lousteau. That mysterious little Koala, I never got his name."
"The Guru? Dimitri? The Panda King? You…you can't be serious."
"Oh, I am."
"But I didn't hear anything about it. Nothing on the news. You think that the deaths of such renowned former criminals would've been instantly covered…"
"That's the magic of this man. That's how silently and efficiently he worked. Well, with the obvious exception of your wife. He probably wanted to start off with a bang and then work swiftly and quietly; I don't know. There's no telling what that man has in mind, but it always involves finishing his job. After eliminating those first four, he had only you four left to go. It is pure circumstance that you and your three friends managed to escape him this long."
"But why take all of this time before doing it? You waited fifteen years before sending a man out to kill us. Why?"
"You think I willingly waited all those years? Oh, no. You see, we realized the threat that you and your little gang posed to us as early as 1992, after the destruction of our duplicate. We spent 13 years searching for a man to do the job, but all of them either requested too much money, had other customers who had got to them first, were unable to acquire the necessary weaponry and transportation, or would stop short of wetting their pants at the very mention of the name Sly Cooper. We were lucky enough to finally find several shady leads that eventually brought us to this man. We finally got to meet face-to-face on June 4th, just two short days before he began, and I knew, instantly, at that moment, that this was the man for the job. The man with no name. The man with no voice. The man with no home. The man who knows nothing except the business of assassination. But, rest assured, wherever he is, he is following you right now. Chances are, he'll have followed your trail right back to this facility. And let me tell you something else, Cooper."
The badger stood up and placed his hands on the desk, leaning over towards Sly. Several loose pieces of ash fell from the glowing end of the cigar onto the fine polished wood.
"I don't know what you expected to do upon arriving here, but you have crossed the line. You are in dangerous waters now. Even if our man doesn't catch up to you, I'll finish you off personally. I don't know where your two friends are right now, but I guarantee that they are in just as much danger as you are."
Vlotho slowly eased back into the chair, and took another long drag on the cigar before pulling it out between two fingers once more.
"However, I must commend you on arriving at such a perfect time. Your arrival has come just short of an hour before we were to begin and launch the new Clockwerk."
"But I thought you just said that you wanted to wait until me and my friends were dead before you launched it."
"I said that I was considering doing that. But I eventually concluded that our man was taking too long, and that, with our project finally completed, we could not afford to wait any longer. Waiting with that fully-completed masterpiece just sitting there, it was far too dangerous. We had to just get it up and off the ground as soon as we could, with the army of Robo-Falcons and Mech Eggs following it, as well as all of our henchmen mobilizing after it with every single weapon and vehicle we have here." Yes, the initiation is to take place in…"
Vlotho placed the cigar back in his mouth to look at his watch.
"…23 minutes. And I must say, it truly is a shame that you will not be able to witness it."
Just then, the elevator sounded with a ding. Vlotho looked up past Sly, and Sly turned around to follow his gaze. Sly noticed how Hans, still standing in the far corner of the room, didn't react to the sound at all. He kept his beady eyes locked on Sly.
The elevator doors slowly creaked open, revealing a tall, well-built German Shepherd in an elegant uniform.
"Yes, Colonel Grant?"
The Colonel stepped forward into the room, stopping a few feet from the chair Sly sat in, and bowed slightly towards the Commander before he spoke. "Commander. All personnel have reported to the main hangar as you requested, sir."
"All of them, Grant?"
"All soldiers and other armed personnel, as well as a majority of the scientists and factory workers. They are all standing in formation right now, sir. Only the one man you requested – Knox – is still on-duty, guarding the door to the factory, sir."
As Grant gave his fairly long response, Sly digested this new information, and realized the perfect opportunity, now that the facility was almost completely cleared out. He took advantage of the distraction on Vlotho's part to ever so briefly reach up and scratch the back of his neck in what appeared to be nervousness. However, as he did so, he moved his smallest finger over to his ear, and pressed the communicator three times.
"Very good, Grant. Head down there yourself and put the men at ease until I arrive."
"Yes, sir."
The dog bowed once more, then did a sharp about face and headed back into the elevator.
Once the dog was gone, a grin slowly spread across Vlotho's face, and he chuckled.
"Well, Cooper, I must be going now. My men await me. They are preparing to meet their god in all of his full glory. Today…Operation: The Third Day shall commence."
"Operation: The Third Day? That's what you're calling it? Why?"
Vlotho chuckled once more and removed the cigar from his mouth again. He slowly stood up and turned around, facing the massive glass wall behind him. He paused, then slowly approached it. As he walked towards it, he started softly reciting:
"The book of Matthew, chapter 27, verses 63 to 64: "'After three days I will rise again.' So give the order for the tomb to be made secure until the third day."
Sly, with a now-amused expression, chuckled.
"Oh, so now you're actually comparing Clockwerk to Jesus. What, are you playing God now?"
"Yes. Yes I am."
"You are nuts. I've said it before, but I know now that you're truly insane."
"Am I, boy? Am I?"
Vlotho spun around on his heels and walked back up to the desk. He slammed his palms down on the wood and leaned across it, towards Sly.
"Think about it. A select few men in history have come since Him who have proven to be amazing leaders, powerful conquerors, and true men of might. And each one who came after the last came slightly closer to realizing his goal, and conquering the world. Attila the Hun, Alexander the Great, Adolf Hitler…and now it's my turn. No one is going to stop me this time. I have lived and died many times before. Each time, I came closer and closer. Now, no more reaching for the stars. Now, I finally realize my dream. Now, the true Third Day begins."
Vlotho stopped, then looked back down at his watch.
"17 minutes now. I must be going."
"So that's why you wanted to wait for exactly 72 hours after its completion? Because of the whole story of three days after the Crucifixion?"
"More or less. Upon receiving the news that the second Clockwerk was all ready to go, I began my exactly 72-hour-long waiting period, so that we may truly re-fulfill the old prophecy by bringing him back to life three days after his period of being between death and between life began. It was 10:30 P.M, Saturday, the eleventh of the sixth month, in the year of our Lord 2005, when it was confirmed that he was all ready to go. Now, 72 hours later, at 10:30 P.M., Tuesday, the fourteenth of the sixth month, in the year of our Lord 2005, he shall finally rise again. And I shall be the man behind it."
"Wait." Sly interrupted.
"Yes?" Vlotho cracked a slight smile.
"One more thing. Where is she?"
"'She?' Ah, yes! Your little mouse friend. How could I have forgotten? Must be the excitement of having a new guest, and knowing that my plan is about to finally be executed. Of course, how rude of me to leave a guest hanging like so. That actually reminds me: That little film I had you watch just now? It was part of a double feature! Consider this the after show."
Sly forced himself to turn around again and look at the massive screen. Vlotho raised the remote and pressed the button again.
As the screen turned to static once more, Vlotho added: "Oh, I should inform you of this now: Unlike the previous film, this one is live!"
Then, suddenly, all that Sly could see on the screen was a large, dull metal room. All walls were plain, bare, and forbidding, the only features on the walls being large air vents directly in the middle of each wall. In the center of the room was a metal chair, with a familiar slumped figure tied into it. Standing next to the chair, slightly leaning over the person tied to it, was a large, muscular raccoon.
Sly shot straight up out of his chair, standing rigidly as he instantly recognized the figure tied to the chair.
Vlotho then brought the remote to his mouth, where there was a small speaker at the end. He pressed a red button above it and held it down to speak into it.
"Belyeau!"
The raccoon straightened up, looking around slightly, as if unsure to where the voice came from. Nevertheless, he straightened up, standing at rigid attention, and called out:
"Yes, sir."
"Belyeau, you may not be able to see him right now, but in case you have not yet heard, I can inform you that we now have another captive."
"Excellent, sir."
"Yes, quite. Because this captive is none other than Sly Cooper himself."
The raccoon noticeably had a look of shock on his face for a moment, but shook it off and quickly recovered.
"Excellent, sir." He repeated.
"And, while I do firmly believe in 'The more, the merrier,' I also firmly believe that having too many captives at once can be such a hassle. And, clearly, Sly Cooper himself is of much more significance to us, and is a higher priority target than that mouse. Belyeau…It is time. Clear the premises, and report to the control room."
"Yes, sir." The raccoon replied. He then pivoted sharply and walked off-screen.
After a moment, the view on the screen changed. The image of the still figure tied to the chair was pushed to the right, until it covered only half of the screen. The left half of the screen was still static. After a moment, it showed the inside of a room with several monitors and one long console, with various switches and readouts on it. There were two technicians seated in front of the console, with the tall raccoon, Belyeau, standing behind them. Most of the wall above the console was a glass window, looking through to the room where the figure was tied to the chair.
At that moment, Sly noticed the figure in the chair slowly raise its head. He focused on the right side of the screen, where he could see it clearly.
It was none other than Penelope. Sly could make out several noticeably bruises and cuts on her face and arms. One of the lenses of her glasses was shattered, and her hair was disheveled.
"…Penelope…"
At that moment, her mouth started moving slowly.
Seeing this, Vlotho's grin grew. "Belyeau, activate the microphones, if you please. Let her have her final words."
Also out of the slightest and shallowest of courtesy in this situation, Vlotho held down the red button and moved it closer to Sly, allowing him to communicate directly with Penelope.
On the left side of the screen, the raccoon once again sounded off with a "Yes, sir," before relaying the same order to one of the technicians.
Sly watched one of the technicians flip a small switch. Immediately, the movements of her mouth on the screen matched words that he could suddenly hear.
"…Sl…Sly…Is…that…?"
"Penelope!" Sly called out.
"Sly…Whe…Where's…Bentley…"
"Bentley's fine, Penelope. He's just fine." Sly said, doing anything he could to keep her calm.
"Sly…They…What are…they…"
"They won't do anything to you, Penelope!" Sly spun around and angrily faced Vlotho. "Damn it, you will NOT touch her! If you do anything to her, I'll…"
"Belyeau! Prepare to turn on…the gas."
Sly's anger died, and was instantly replaced with desperation. "NO! Don't kill her! Look, I…I can give you anything you want! I'll do anything! Just don't kill her! Don't! What-What do you want? Money?"
Vlotho, who was just preparing to speak the final command into the remote, paused at this statement. He released the button…
…and then burst into a fit of laughter.
Sly could only sit and watch, his heart racing, palms sweating, and confusion rising as the badger simply laughed and laughed in front of him. His anger started to return.
Eventually, the laughter stopped and Vlotho managed to continue. "Re-really? Really, Cooper? Really? Did you JUST offer me…MONEY? I just laid out all of my plans for complete world domination in front of you, and you think some MONEY will change my mind about killing your little friend? Do you consider money greater than complete control over the entire world? My, you truly are lost."
"Listen to me, you sick freak! If you kill her, I swear to God you'll pay for it! Do you hear me?"
"Go ahead, Cooper. Leap over this desk and attack me. Hans will be on you in an instant."
Sly angrily spun around again to face the deaf henchman. However, the screen completely blocked Sly's view of the corner where Hans had been, and he had no idea where Hans was in the room. Sly then looked directly at the screen again.
I can't let them do this. I can't…
"Belyeau!" Vlotho barked.
"Yes, sir."
"Turn on the-."
Suddenly, with a yell, Sly spun around again and threw himself forward, sliding over the wooden table, upsetting the lamp, computer, and one potted plant, and tackled Vlotho.
The remote flew out of the badger's hands, and he started to fall backwards out of his chair as Sly threw himself onto him, clasping his hands around Vlotho's neck.
The chair toppled over, and both were on the floor. Sly clenched even tighter, as hard as he could, hoping to strangle the life out of the badger. Vlotho grabbed onto Sly's wrists, hoping to clench even harder to cut off the circulation to Sly's hands, grunting several times.
However, before either of them could gain the advantage over the other, a large figure suddenly appeared next to them. All that Sly felt was a sudden, python-like grip take hold of him by the back of his shirt and the back of his neck. Then, with unbelievable speed, he was yanked up into the air, lifted over the desk, and thrown down against the floor.
Before he even had time to lift up his head, he felt the powerful grip on the back of his neck once more, yanking him up off the floor and forcing him to stand on wobbly legs, turned to face the man he just attacked.
Vlotho did not appear happy, to say the least, and replied with an angry glare and a solid left hook. At that moment, Hans released Sly, allowing the impact to send him stumbling backwards and back into the chair, blood dripping down from his mouth.
"Now that was just plain rude, boy. Don't you know how to behave as a guest?"
Sly was gnashing his teeth, breathing heavily, and barely able to contain his anger.
"Now you shall pay. You had the option of watching this lovely home movie before, but now you must be forced to watch it."
Just then, Sly felt the grip for a third time, this time one wrapping around his neck while the other grabbed the back of his head. He was yanked out of his chair again, and the hand on his head grabbed him by the hair and forced him to look directly at the screen.
Vlotho, after brushing himself off, picked the remote up off the floor.
"Sorry about that, Belyeau. As I was saying…turn on the gas."
"Yes, sir." Belyeau replied once again.
Sly was forced to watch in absolute horror as the raccoon called Belyeau relayed Vlotho's orders to the two technicians. They started flipping various little switches, each one a switch closer to watching Penelope die. Each flip, each click, each turn, was even more agonizing than the last, and it seemed like an eternity of the same sounds repeating over and over again. Sly could not drown out those horrible sounds, even as he looked straight at Penelope's face. She was struggling just to keep her head up, trying to look around the room. She was in worse shape than Sly had ever seen before. It pained him to see her like this. He could only imagine how Bentley would be feeling right now…
Just then, Penelope finally located the camera in the room. With all the strength she had left, she raised her head and looked straight into it, as if looking straight into Sly's eyes. The look in her eyes…that distant, pained, despondent look, through the blood and broken glasses…The image burned itself into Sly's mind in an instant, and he found himself at a complete loss of words, movements, or thoughts at the very sight of her.
Then, finally, the switching and the clicking stopped. Sly's eyes widened. The two technicians slowly leaned back in their chairs, both folding their hands together and placing them in their laps in almost perfect unison. Belyeau straightened up and followed their gazes out the window to watch the hostage's demise.
No…
Just then, another sound could be heard. An even worse sound than any of the switches.
A hissing.
Sly could only stare in horror as the hissing sounded with no visible counterpart. Then, slowly, on the right side of the screen, he could see a light green veil slowly emerge from the vents placed perfectly in each wall of the room. Soon, it was visible through the window on the left side of the screen as well. All three different angles allowed it to completely swallow up any spare, clean space and converge on Penelope in the dead center of the room all at once.
No…
Then, before he knew it, the green gas had completely enveloped her. Her eyes widened, the fear and pain happening at once clearly visible in her distant gaze. Sly thought he heard a single, weak gasp escape from her. Her entire body then started to shudder, mostly her head. The chair she was in was visibly shaking as she convulsed as a reaction to the gas. Her mouth fell open, and a gasp could be heard again, this time longer and more stretched out, as well as much more distant and weak. Her head slowly craned back, further and further, her mouth open as if screaming to the sky, with no one there to answer her.
NO!
"NO!"
Sly screamed and started resisting Hans' grip furiously, trying his hardest to thrash around. However, the arm Hans had wrapped around Sly's neck dropped down and wrapped around both of Sly's arms, preventing him from reaching up to grab Hans. In addition, the second hand moved from the back of Sly's head to over Sly's mouth, covering it tightly and preventing him from making any kind of intelligible sound. Sly grunted and shook furiously, but was unable to move. He was just as restrained as Penelope was.
Through grinded teeth and flaring nostrils, Sly stared at the screen as Penelope continued convulsing and weakly gasping.
Then, suddenly, it was over. It was as if every single particle of life was completely sucked out of her body in a split second. Her head slumped forward so fast and suddenly that her glasses slid off her face, bouncing off her lap and crashing to the floor, breaking the still-intact lens. Her weak groan cut off abruptly like a record player that had the needle yanked away.
No more movement, no more sound, no more life.
Penelope was dead.
To be continued…