Calm Before the Storm

The Krak-Karov Volcano, Russia; Tuesday, June 14, 10:18 P.M…

Bentley and Murray, having received Sly's signal, had descended down into the valley, hugging the cliff wall rather than taking the long, risky, dangerous path that Sly had taken, knowing full well that he was much more agile than both of them could ever be. They hugged the wall, eventually reaching the tip of the peninsula of jagged, uneven, rocky terrain that extended like an arm from the base of the Volcano.

Murray, with the rifle slung over his shoulder and the shotgun in his hands, led the way for Bentley, dodging between larger rocks and casually shoving aside the smaller ones to allow Bentley to wheel through the rough area.

Eventually, they arrived just behind the line of metal buildings of the facility. There was a thin patch of grass between the rocky area and the metal walls. Both hopped down into this area and sneaked along the walls to the end of the long line of metal buildings.

When they finally reached the end of the line, they scurried around the corner, stopping just at the edge, and both leaned out to get a good look at the wide open field in front of the facility, with the hangar-like building nearby.

It was completely empty. Not a single soul could be seen. All of the heavily-armed guards that they had seen in their reconnaissance had vanished.

…

Sly's mind was an absolute wreck as Hans dropped him back into his chair. He simply sat there in open-mouthed stupor, the live feed cutting to static, then blank. The screen slowly retracted into the ceiling. The live image was gone, but the mental image was now permanently burned into his mind. Penelope, bruised, bloody, beaten, tied to a chair, dying, and dead. Helpless. And Sly, despite seeing the whole thing unfold live right before his own eyes, was unable to do anything about it.

He turned around without even thinking about his own body movements, sitting with his arms hanging and eyes gazing off into space stupidly. He would never be able to forgive himself for this. And he knew that Bentley probably wouldn't, either.

Vlotho leaned back with a content smile, knowing that the damage he had intended had been done, and done well.

"Wasn't that an outstanding picture?" He asked smugly. "Definitely deserving of several Oscars, including best leading actress and best visual effects, wouldn't you agree?"

Sly was just too stunned, too horrified to be angry at the cynical comments. It was still impossible. The thought was still incomprehensible. Penelope. Dead.

"I can understand if, on the slight offhand chance that any of you actually survive this, you'd want a body to take back and give a proper burial. Unfortunately for you, you'll never find that special execution chamber of ours. One of the first things we had done was to remove her communicator and take a common hammer to it. It will be as if she never existed.

"Now, while I do enjoy spending time with you, I'm afraid that I now have only about…" He looked at his gold watch once more. "…ten minutes. I cannot delay any longer. But I suppose I do have a little bit of time left. How about a show?"

Vlotho then slid his hands back across the wood of the desk, straightening up. He looked over at the far corner of the room, where the coyote stood silently, awaiting a single gesture.

Vlotho raised a hand, just one hand, up into the air. Hans perked up his head. Vlotho then curled all fingers into a fist, save for the index finger. He then lowered it and pointed it straight at Sly. He then brought down the index finger, turning his right hand into a complete fist. He then swiftly punched it against his left palm, curling his left hand's fingers over the fist. His grin grew, and he chuckled evilly.

Hans nodded and began advancing towards Sly.

Sly had an instant to shake off the emotional storm within his mind and react. Jumping up out of his chair, he spun around to face his attacker head-on. The coyote was upon him, and Sly barely had time to react.

Silently and swiftly, Hans threw the first punch; a sharp left hook aimed at Sly's jaw. Sly ducked under it and rushed forward, moving his right hand back behind him, clenching it into a fist, then swinging it forward and slamming it right into Hans' gut.

Hans barely even flinched.

He reached down, grabbed Sly by the back of his shirt, and flung him up off the ground, over his shoulder, and slammed him down onto the carpet, facing up at the ceiling in a daze.

Sly barely had time to even realize that he had been flipped before Hans grabbed him by the neck and lifted him up. Holding his neck with his right hand, he slowly and tightly clenched his left hand into a fist and moved it back.

All that Sly had time to do was close his eyes.

The force of the impact sent Sly flying just as Hans released his grip on his neck. Sly flew across the room and slammed into the potted plant on the right side of the elevator door – the sapling in the Greek era pot – and smashed the priceless artifact to pieces, sending shards of clay and clumps of dirt flying. The tree fell over, almost falling on top of Sly himself.

Leaping to his feet, Sly grabbed the tree by its base and flung it at Hans as he approached. While Hans tried to grab one of the thicker branches of the small tree, the cluster of leaves still enveloped him, rattling in his face, brushing up against him all over his torso in just slightly annoying, ticklish manners, obscuring his vision, and disorienting him. He frantically reached to take hold of another branch, but he could feel the tree being shoved forward against him, throwing him off-balance and sending him sprawling to the floor, tree on top of him.

While lying on the floor, he angrily ripped the tree off of him and launched it aside…

…only to see the raccoon standing over him, one of the priceless paintings from the nearby wall raised over his head.

Hans raised both of his arms, crossing them over his chest to brace against the impact of the painting as it was brought down and smashed cleanly in half.

Grabbing the half that landed on the floor near him, Hans leapt to his feet and swung the severed half at the raccoon, who was still holding the other half. Sly similarly blocked the attack with his half, and both halves collided and smashed even further.

Hans was the first to toss his half aside quickly. Before Sly could do the same, Hans' right hand smashed right through what remained of his half of the Van Gogh painting, grabbing the back of Sly's head. Sly let go of the painting, which still hung on Hans' arm, and reached for Hans' hand just as Hans shoved Sly aside, slamming him face-first against the metal wall.

The sharp impact sent Sly sprawling backwards onto the floor in a daze. Hans took advantage of this brief pause to pull the ruined painting off his arm before he raised both elbows, bent sharply and seeming tougher than metal baseball bats, and swung them down hard towards Sly.

At the last moment, Sly rolled off to the side, practically throwing himself out of the way as the elbows came down just where he had been lying moments earlier. He got to his hands and knees, then jumped up to his feet.

Hans was already on him, grabbing him by the neck once more with one hand, and slowly raising the other in a clenched fist.

This time, Sly knew what to do. He raised up both feet, planted them firmly against Hans' stomach, and shoved off. He managed to surprise Hans and both push him backwards as well as push himself out of Hans' grip. As Sly flew back, he spun around in mid-air, landing firmly on both feet and quickly straightening up. Hans, stumbling backward, clutched at his stomach for a few seconds before standing up straight and taller than Sly once again, lowering both fists and advancing towards Sly.

Sly did a quick observation of the room around him. He realized that there were only two exits: The elevator, which would obviously not work, as it would take forever to bring back up, and if he did successfully get it, it would simply bring him right down into the factory, full of personnel. The other was the chute that Hans had dropped the late Sergeant Bolan's body into earlier.

Sly glanced at the hatch to the chute, not too far away from him across the room.

Without even pausing for thought, Sly dashed towards it, yanked it down by the handle, and jumped right in.

It took Hans a few seconds to actually grasp what the foolish, unsuspecting raccoon had just done. He stopped, halfway across the room, and turned to his superior with a confused look, being genuinely shocked for the first time in his entire life.

However, Vlotho simply responded with a look that, while still displaying some bewilderment, was more borderline on amusement.

He then waved an empty palm at Hans several times, the gesture to relax.

"It's quite alright." He spoke more to himself. "He has no idea what he's gotten himself into. Chances are, he'll be dead before he's even realized it. May God not have mercy on his soul."

…

Sly's mind was racing just as fast as his body was. He found himself sliding effortlessly through the metal chute, definitely large enough for his relatively skinny body to fit through, as if it was greased on the bottom. He slid along, banging against the walls at every turn. He stuck his hands out in front of him, desperately trying to slow down his rapid descent. All kinds of thoughts were racing through his mind. What was this shaft? Where was it going? Why hadn't he tried to get his Cane back before jumping in? Was this really the better alternative to escaping through the factory?

After what seemed like an eternity of sliding through a metal prison, he slammed into yet another wall as it turned to the right once more, also declining a little bit more, making him move faster. It was one long, straight stretch, and he could finally see the other end.

It was glowing orange.

Sly's eyes widened as he put two and two together, remembering the precarious placement of Vlotho's quarters and this chute that was apparently used to dispose of garbage. He knew that he had to do something, and fast.

Sticking his arms out to the sides rather than in front of him, he spread his legs out as well, placing both feet and the lower halves of each leg against the wall of the chute, wedging himself in tight and hoping to slow down.

He watched fearfully as the exit fast approached, the orange glow getting larger and brighter, the heat already causing a few slight drops of sweat to appear on his brow..

He was slowing down. He pressed against the chute walls even harder, slowing down even more.

Then the exit was upon him. Despite his efforts, he still found himself sliding forward ever so tauntingly slow. He pressed even harder, but it was too late. His hands slid right out of the chute as the walls vanished, and the rest of his body followed easily.

He was in the crater of the Volcano, the massive pool of boiling lava about 7 feet below him, spreading out for what seemed like hundreds upon hundreds of feet in all directions. As he fell, he flipped once and twisted around so that he was upright and facing the rock wall just below the end of the chute. He reached out blindly and managed to slip all of his fingers into a passing crevice. He swung down against the rock, slamming up against it once, then pulling himself even closer, pressing up against the secure rock wall.

After a few long seconds of breathing heavily, relieved to be alive, he looked down. The surface of the lava was barely a foot below him. However, between him and the lava was a single rock, jutting out from the side by only about 7 inches. It seemed thick enough to at least hold his weight. Sly slowly relaxed his fingers, stretching them out so that he was as close to the jutting rock as possible and wouldn't drop too hard onto it. He let go and gently landed on the jutting rock. Pressing up against the wall, he slowly turned himself around to face the lava.

He stopped, closed his eyes, and placed one hand over his heart. He slowly breathed in and out, in and out, trying to collect himself again before making his next move.

Then, out of the distance, he heard a strange sound. A distant clattering, followed by a long scratching sound. Not the kind of rough scratching heard when nails slide along a chalkboard, though, or a grain of sand on glass. It was a smooth kind of scratching, almost like a sliding. Like the kind of sliding his body did as he fell down the chute. He then heard another light clatter. It sounded like something long and narrow was tumbling down the chute, obviously an inanimate object.

After a few moments, the first object that came to Sly's mind made his fear shoot back up. He desperately looked up at the end of the chute, just above his head and over the lava. With one hand gripping a small handhold in the rock behind him, he leaned out desperately, his other arm stretched out as far as it could.

After a few more seconds, the source of the clattering emerged from the chute. Just as Sly thought, it was his Cane. It shot out and tumbled straight down towards the lava.

At the last moment, as it spun down through the air, Sly's fingers snatched it by the very tip of the hook. The very bottom of the Cane was just barely skimming the surface of the lava.

In a heartbeat, Sly jerked the Cane back, pulling himself back against the wall and clutching the Cane tightly against his chest, relieved to have it back.

He took a long pause, both to assess his situation and think about his next move.

Then, suddenly, he remembered Bentley and Murray. He quickly pressed his hand to his left ear.

"Bentley! Murray! Come in, do you read me? I've found out what they're doing! They're constructing a Second Clockwerk, and a whole army of Mech Eggs and Robo-Falcons! And they're going to launch them all tonight in about 10 minutes! Guys!"

When there was no answer, not even the slightest sound of static or whining on the other end, Sly pressed one finger deeper into his ear.

The communicator was gone.

And he was now trapped, on a thin ledge of rock, just inches above boiling lava, in a massive Volcano crater.

…

Vlotho stood up out of his chair, grinning the smuggest of grins as he watched Hans toss the raccoon's Cane down into the chute with him, following him into his fiery grave.

"Burn in Hell, Sly Cooper."

Vlotho then leaned over his desk to the intercom speaker, holding down the single button, leaning in closer and putting his mouth near the speaker. He cleared his throat once as the standard whine shot through every single speaker in the facility, signifying that the Commander was about to speak, the whine drowning out the sound of him clearing his throat.

Once the whine finished, he spoke up in his deepest, proudest voice. "Attention, all personnel! Attention, all personnel! This is Commander Maximilian Vlotho. I understand that most of you are in formation in the main hangar. For those of you that are, you are officially at ease for now until I arrive. And for all scientists who are still on duty in the hangar rather than in formation, I want the project all ready for me to enter and initiate on a moment's notice, and all further instructions I will need ready to be relayed to me as if you were reciting a speech for the United Nations. That is all."

Releasing the button, he walked around his desk and across the freshly-stained red carpet, barely missing the communicator that had been knocked out of Sly's ear when Hans flipped him, and moved to the elevator. He turned to the right and gave a brief gesture of the right hand to signal Hans to follow him.

He walked over to the small panel next to the elevator doors and held down the white button for three seconds, then released it. He waited patiently as the elevator slowly rose back up to his chamber, and finally arrived. He stepped in, Hans following him.

The elevator ride down, despite his clear and unobstructed view of his progress through the glass, seemed to last forever. He glanced down at his watch.

Eight minutes.

The elevator had barely grinded to a halt, the doors halfway open, when Vlotho was already shoving through and walking at a rather fast pace down the metal catwalk, through the factory. He glanced around on all sides. All of the machinery had stopped. The conveyor belts, the melting boxes, the mechanical cranes, the magnetic cranes, everything. The only sound echoing throughout the entire factory was his footsteps, and those of Hans almost neatly paralleling his, with only a few longer strides on Hans' part (in an effort to keep up with his superior) sounding different.

They reached the end of the factory, where the large metal door was already wide open. One of the few members of personnel who had been ordered to remain somewhere in the facility other than the hangar – a fairly small pigeon – was leaning against the wall behind the metal door with two pistols holstered, one on each side of his waist. He was noticeably upset about not being there to witness the initiation, but he had been chosen due to being a fairly new recruit, relatively inexperienced and thus unworthy of witnessing the glorious launch, as well as the fact that the factory was probably the only place in the facility that absolutely had to be protected until the initiation, so as to keep the Mech Eggs and Robo-Falcons safe. He was probably one of the newest recruits, and it had been by pure happenstance that he had not yet found himself making a stupid error and facing Vlotho's wrath, like Sergeant Davis, Private Maclean, and Sergeant Bolan. It was either a brief glimpse of intelligence on his part or sheer luck that he had thought to have the door open so as to not delay his Commander's progress any further.

The two men walked right through the massive opening, turning left at the fork and heading down the long, metal corridor. Just like the factory, there was not a single sound to be heard anywhere. No guards, no scientists, no target practice, no experimentations of any kind going on behind those many, identical, closed doors.

As he hurried along, he glanced down at his watch again.

Five minutes.

He was now practically running – sprinting, even – down the hall. Hans mimicked him, keeping up with the racing badger.

Finally, they arrived at the door leading outside. He twisted the handle down and almost threw himself against the door, swinging it open and bolting across the grass to the hangar in the distance.

Four minutes.

…

Bentley and Murray barely had time to duck for cover behind the wall of a protruding building when they saw two figures: A short, furiously sprinting badger, and a tall coyote, following him with long strides. Murray, his shotgun at the ready, watched as the two men hurried across the grass towards the lone, hangar-like building.

"What are they doing?" Murray asked in a hushed voice.

"Let's head over to the side of the building. Maybe we can listen in."

Both waited until the two men passed by the front of the building, where the badger returned a salute from an unseen sentry, and disappeared through the massive, open door.

They both hurried across the grass as well, moving along so that they were approaching from one of the rear corners, away from where the sentry, or sentries, presumably was.

They reached the wall, pressing up against it with their backs to the building. Murray had the gun raised, barrel pointing up at the night's sky, as they slowly moved along the long wall towards the entrance.

Just as they began sneaking along the wall, they suddenly heard a booming voice from inside the building, clearly speaking over a loudspeaker or intercom system of sorts.

"Welcome, all personnel and proud members of ORNWOR! Tonight, you shall witness the beginning of the end! This is the night that you all waited 18 long years for!"

"Beginning of the end?" Murray whispered half-heartedly to Bentley. "What is that guy talking about?"

"Let's just keep listening."

"When we founded our humble organization almost 20 years ago, me and the other few founding members had a single goal. A dream. A vision. The idea that we, with the right kind of weaponry, never before heard of in the history of mankind, could work towards restarting the world! Erasing history and starting a whole new civilization! And it would not be possible without all of you!"

As they continued, Bentley felt that this man – whoever he was, unseen to them on the other side of the wall – was an exceptional speaker, speaking with true power, energy, enthusiasm, and finesse. More so than Martin Luther King Jr. or Adolf Hitler.

"You who turned your backs on your previous lives. Whatever family you may have had before you chose to start your new life here at ORNWOR. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, cousins, nephews, nieces, aunts, uncles, wives, and even children and grandchildren! You all chose to join this revolutionary group because you believed, just as much as I did and still do, that we can make this dream come true! And not just all of you fine hundreds of men standing before me now…but just as importantly, the men who are not standing here. Your comrades who have fallen for our cause, whether they were killed in the line of duty, taken into the custody of international law enforcement forces, or, especially, the seven brave men who made the ultimate sacrifice: The seven men who discovered this Volcano back in May of 1989, 16 years ago. Those men who reported back with their amazing discovery, including the original Clockwerk. Those men who, the day prior to our whole organization's arrival at the same place, lost their lives in a horrific and bloody battle. Those men fought well and valiantly, but none survived. Without them, we would have never discovered this place, with its amazing, unique metal, the advanced technology, far ahead of our time, and, of course, our savior in all his glory: Clockwerk!"

At the last word, both of them stopped just as they neared the corner of the building. The horrible feeling of fear instantly registered in their minds, stopping them both dead in their tracks and sending chills up and down their spines.

"Did…he just say…?" Murray asked.

"I think I know now what the source of the radioactivity we detected here earlier is." Bentley replied weakly.

"Let's just get out of here. Forget following these guys."

"You're right. And it's clear that every single one of the guards is in that building, as he just said. So that means that the rest of the facility is deserted, and safe for us to go through."

Bentley turned and looked back towards the main bulk of the facility.

"Come on, let's stick to the plan. We'll head inside and find Sly. The signal from his communicator is still reading strong."

"Got it."

Both retreated back along the wall until they were at a safe distance from the front, and then quickly retraced their steps to the wall of the metal across the way.

All the while, the voice booming from inside the hangar continued.

Bentley and Murray made it back to the main area of the facility, moving fast along the metal walls. The buildings, while mostly the same basic shape, had intervals where they briefly rose or fell, extended or retracted. It was like a massive conglomerate of metal buildings, all stretching out in one long line from the base of the Volcano like a massive metal arm. They finally reached the first of several large metal doors set into the side of the building. It was mostly featureless; a thick slat of Karovanine set back slightly from the rest of the wall, and with a single vertical handle on it. However, next to the handle, there was a keypad consisting of the twelve commonly-seen keys; the 10 different digits, the pound symbol, and the asterisk.

"Shoot! This thing needs a code!" Murray reported.

"I…don't have anything that can hook up to this keypad and get us in!"

"I'll bet all doors are like this one. How are we supposed to get in?"

Bentley was at a complete loss for words, and slowly found himself mustering up the courage to utter the three-word phrase he rarely, if never at all, ever said: "I don't know."

Then, suddenly, they could hear a soft beeping coming from the other side of the door. Light beeps in rapid succession, like typing on a keyboard.

…

Ivan stumbled and nearly fell over his own feet for the fourth time as he tore down the hall, repeating the same four-letter explicative in his mind over and over again.

Why the hell did he have to be late? Why the hell did he actually try to hide in the lavatory, thinking that he could actually get away from this? Why the hell was he so desperate to stay away from the launch? All of these questions found themselves answered by more questions, and were ultimately just massive distractions in his mind, straying away from the real issue.

He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his platoon commander, Sergeant Bolan, was going to skin him alive, make his skin into a coat, throw his skinless body into a garbage disposal, and then bury the remains.

As he stumbled for the fifth time, he lost his grip on the balance point of the AR-15 that he was holding, and it nearly fell to the floor, its butt scraping the metal as it swung down loosely, his other hand still firmly gripping a point just below the tip of the barrel. He stopped for a moment and reached down to grab it by the trigger guard itself, raising it up again. After a pause, he cursed under his breath again and slung it over his shoulder. Screw it; he never liked carrying any kind of firearm at Order Arms anyway. He preferred it over his shoulder.

As it slung over, the butt loosely knocked against the handle of the sleek, nickel-plated pistol in his holster, fully-loaded.

He was probably one of the newest recruits, alongside his good friend Private Knox, and was also the youngest. Perhaps that contributed to his inability to comprehend the plans that this organization had, which resulted in his childish fear of their incredible weapons. Perhaps that was why he was so damn terrified of the very thought of a "Second Clockwerk."

But he was even more afraid of explaining his tardiness to Bolan. What if they were already in the middle of Vlotho's speech? Having to walk in right in the middle of that would mean instant death.

Why the hell did Knox get the job of staying away from this launch? Why hadn't he volunteered? Then again, Knox had certainly not volunteered; he was chosen due to being the newest recruit, even if he was older than Ivan. Before the thought had actually occurred to him to volunteer, the decision was already made by Commander Vlotho himself. To suggest reconsidering his decision would only anger both Vlotho and Bolan and make him look worse. That is, worse than he already did look.

Even as he approached the door, he found himself trembling and about to wet himself as his fingers slowly entered the 6-digit code into the keypad. Was he actually going to go through with this?

After he entered the code, the keypad buzzed and the red light shut off, the green light next to it switching on, followed by a loud click as the door's deadbolts opened.

He grabbed the handle, pushed it down, and leaned against the door to open it.

As he opened the door and took the first step into the fresh, slightly cold night air, stars in the sky above, and the soft, short grass beneath his feet, he could already hear Vlotho's booming voice coming from inside the hangar, delivering a knockout speech proudly.

He swallowed and started to step out, about to place his other foot on the grass when he suddenly sensed a presence to his left. He turned and barely had enough time to see the large, bright pink mass next to him before his entire field of vision shifted to black, courtesy of a quick and sharp smack of a fist into his face.

…

The guard reeled backwards from Murray's blow to the jaw, sending him spinning around and slamming face-first into the half-open door, then slowly falling sideways, the front of his body facing the door, his arms stretched out beyond the door, and his waist and legs still inside the doorway.

"That was easy." Murray commented as he quickly grabbed the door and pushed it open further, allowing Bentley to wheel around the unconscious guard and inside the building. As Murray pressed his back up against the door to prop it open, he knelt down and picked up the cat by his ankles, dragging him inside. Just before the guard was out of the doorway, Murray looked up and took note of the matching keypad on the inside of the door. He stopped for a moment, glanced up and down the guard's body, and quickly took off one of his boots, placing it between the door and its frame, keeping it open. He then continued dragging the guard away from the opening, placing him against the wall and clapping his hands off as he turned to Bentley.

"Which way?" As he asked this, he glanced from the left to the right, noticing that both directions seemed to stretch on endlessly.

Bentley looked down at the small screen in the right armrest of his chair, displaying a small, radar-like readout. It depicted an aerial X-ray view of the building they were in, with the walls on both sides represented by lines, the doors represented by thicker sections of the lines, and the rooms beyond the doors by more lines, in whatever shape they were in. The dot at the center of the screen was Bentley's wheelchair, with a second dot right next to it being Murray's communicator. There was a dot on the far upper-right edge of the screen, down the right side of the hall, which issued a little pang every few seconds, emitting a single ring, almost like a wave, with every pang.

Bentley looked to the right.

"It's this way. Come on."

They both turned and ran down the hall, the doors on all sides racing past. All the while, there was still not a single guard in sight. All along the way, light bulbs hanging from the ceiling, protected by metal cages, illuminated the way. Their glow reflected off of the metal in a way that was strangely dull, but at the same time, strangely beautiful and pristine.

They raced along, past all of the closed doors. At one point, they passed by a setback area to the left, with large metal racks, presumably for weapons, stretching from the floor to the ceiling.

Every single one was completely empty.

They eventually came to a metal catwalk stretching across an open area, where the rest of the floor dropped away into a chamber that extended two stories. As they ran past, they noticed the lanes of dirt, with massive piles of sand at the end of each lane.

They continued along, racing along the catwalk and emerging back into the metal hallway.

"Are we getting closer?" Murray yelled behind him.

"We're closer now than we were before!" Bentley replied. "But we've still got a long way to go!"

"Geez, how long is this place?"

They continued running along, eventually finally reaching a fork in the hall, branching off to the right and the left.

"Which way?"

"Um…the right."

They both turned and headed down the right side, where not a single door could be seen on either side. Instead, there was a single, massive door at the very end. It was of a slightly darker metal, similarly to how the bulky part hugging the Volcano wall was darker than the rest of the facility.

Murray looked up and down the door.

"Let me take a look at this."

Murray went up and gave the door a good look up and down.

"Wow. That's one big door."

"It's too big and too thick for any of my bombs. But that first door leading into the facility was pretty easy. Maybe this one isn't heavily locked down or anything."

"Um…OK…I'll try this."

He grabbed the dial in the center of the door and started to turn it in the clockwise direction. He kept turning it repeatedly until it suddenly slammed to a halt, not turning any further. He then grabbed the vertical handle and slid it back through the crevice on the other side. He then grabbed the vertical handle and tried to pull it open. It didn't budge. He put more strength into it, but it still didn't move. He then pressed up against it, trying to push it in. Still no luck.

"Nothing. You sure that Sly's through here?"

"That's what the tracker is telling me."

Just then, as Bentley looked back down at the screen on the right armrest of his chair, he took a quick glance behind them to make sure they were still in the clear.

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then, at the corner where the hallway had divided, Bentley saw something. A shadow on the floor. It came from the other path in the fork, and was moving ever so slowly towards the junction.

He frantically tapped Murray on the arm several times, diverting his attention from the stubborn door.

"What is it?"

Bentley frantically pressed a finger to his lips in the gesture to keep quiet. He then pointed at the floor ahead.

Murray followed the direction he was pointing, and saw it.

He quickly raised the shotgun, ran over to the wall, and started moving along the wall at a half-crouch, shotgun at the ready. Bentley stayed back by the door, watching fearfully.

Murray was just inches from the corner. The shadow continued moving along slowly. As it drew closer, it became evident that this person was extremely large. Yet there was not a single sound, except for Murray's own heartbeat and slow, controlled breathing. No footsteps.

Then the shadow stopped.

Murray absolutely refused to move. A single bead of sweat dripped from his brow, onto his nose. It was pin-drop silent throughout the entire hallway.

Then, in a flash, the figure emerged from around the corner. By the time Murray recognized who it was, the shotgun was whipped right out of his hands and thrown back over the attacker's head, slamming against the metal floor and clattering along, sliding several yards before skidding to a stop.

Murray, already at half his normal height, found himself straining to lift his head up high enough to look up at the man's face.

Murray refused to believe his eyes.

…

Inside the hangar, standing on top of the head of the massive Second Clockwerk, Vlotho stood tall, firm, and proud. He looked over all of the men inside the hangar. All guards were in neat, perfect, rectangular formations in their various platoons, all with weapons either in their hands at the Order Arms position, slung around their shoulders, in straps either on their chests or on their backs, or handguns holstered at their waists or on their legs. All of the scientists in the facility, from the team that had worked on the Second Clockwerk all this time right here in the hangar, to the scientists who oversaw the manufacturing of the Mech Eggs, Attack Robots, and Robo-Falcons, were all gathered at the main control board for the hangar, which was on an elevated platform about 10 feet off the ground, with a single staircase leading up to it. They stood, in their white coats, hands folded behind their backs. Off to the side, with only one platoon separating him and the Clockwerk, was Hans. Near him, standing in front of his platoon, was Colonel Grant.

"Through their sacrifice, we learned of this place of amazing technology, advanced weaponry, and eternal wisdom that we could gain from that glorious beast! Even when a certain group of foolhardy, oblivious, and cold-hearted Philistines attempted to destroy that great beast, he remained fighting to what seemed to be the very end! Even when the bulk of the dreaded International Police arrived and sealed off the area, they were like blind men walking towards a cliff! They underestimated the might of Clockwerk, which is something we never did! They poked around and dissected the marvelous base, playing with fire! Eventually, a great amount of their men paid the price for it when they were faced with the wrath of Clockwerk's metal upon dissolving completely in the molten lava!

"Like miserable ants that had a common garden hose pouring down on them, they were hopelessly defeated and retreated with their tails between their legs! Upon doing so, they hoped that the dangers here would simply ward off anyone else who dared to take a look at the marvelous wonders here. They thought that they could just leave behind the find of the century and expect no one else to come back! That's where we came in! And now, even after 15 years, they haven't a clue about our presence here, and our intentions for the technology of this place! For 15 years, we have freely studied the magnificent, the majestic, the nearly-divine power of the original Clockwerk! For those of you who were here since 1997, you all surely remember the day when, with construction of this Second Clockwerk halfway completed, we had deemed the original to be no longer of any use to us. That unforgettable, mournful 16th day of October of that year, where the astounding, awe-inspiring, millennia-old original Clockwerk had to be officially retired. Watching as we eased that great dead beast into the molten lava of the Volcano crater after 7 years of holding it in our custody. That day, a legend almost as old as mankind finally departed from this earth, returning to the heavens to join the supernatural beings that it was one of. A fallen angel of sorts, going home. Now, its memory shall live on! Its demise shall not be in vain!

"Tonight, at 22:30, 10:30 P.M., the magnificent Second Clockwerk shall rise up, as if risen from the grave! Three days after he began his period of half-dead and half-alive, he shall now take full life and reign powerful in all his glory once again! All who think of him shall tremble! All who hear his name shall be struck with fear and dread! All who hear his roar will collapse! And all who see him shall die!

"First, upon launching the Second Clockwerk, I shall initiate the entire army of prepared Robo-Falcons, which are also fully-armed, fully-functional, and fully-operational, who will take all of the Mech Eggs in their claws, one Egg per Falcon, and they shall rise up out of that gloomy factory, swarm around their leader, and follow me through the skies as we begin our conquest! At the same time, all of you shall gather every single weapon that you can out of this facility, mobilize in your various vehicles, and follow from the ground.

"We shall start by mobilizing straight through Russia over to the broken and unstable region of the Middle East! Turkey, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, and all the others in that region, which are currently in great chaos and turmoil. We shall topple all of their governments with full-scale bombardments of their capital cities and major cities, and eventually declare the countries under our control, and issue the ultimatum: Join our army, and help us in completely eliminating all of your enemies and our enemies, in an effort to erase history and restart this earth with a whole new civilization, or die. All militants – and even citizens, if they wish – will contribute with their own weapons, and join us. We will then spread out all across northern Africa, such as Egypt, and sweep through all of those poorer governments as well. We shall continue issuing the ultimatum to all who may hear it, and we shall further assimilate more and more armies, more navies, and more manpower and firepower, spreading our conquest all throughout Africa from north to south, easily toppling all of the weak, corrupt, and crumbling governments there!

"Once the entire continent of Africa is under our control, we move back up through the Middle East and conquer the regions of Pakistan, Tajikistan, India, and Indonesia. From there, we move back west through the now-conquered Middle East and finish off the remaining countries, such as Israel. Then we move back and take China, and Russia. With all of Asia and Africa under our thumb, we finally tackle the harder opponent: Europe. We shall sweep from east to west, taking it one country at a time, with Sweden, Norway, Finland, and Romania, among others, being the first. We then spread through to Germany, Italy, Switzerland, Poland, France, Spain, and Portugal, among others. Finally, we take Great Britain, Scotland, and Ireland. With three of the continents and the entire Eastern Hemisphere conquered, we shall move back towards Australia, New Zealand, and every other island in that region, sweeping in and taking it by storm. Four continents will be down at that point. Then, finally, we make our first long-distance cross over the sea, moving east across the South Pacific and moving in towards South America, taking middle countries such as Chile and Brazil, then moving down south, then sweeping back up north to countries such as Peru and Colombia. Then we move in and take down Mexico, then across the Caribbean to Cuba and Haiti. Finally, after five continents have fallen, we finally move in for the grand finale, the coup de grace, by taking down our most dangerous foe: North America, the United States, and Canada!

"It sounds incredible and foolhardy, I understand. But rest assured: It is a matter of following the Domino Theory. One country falls, the next falls with it, and the next follows, then the next. Many countries around the world are in their worst shape right now. We hit the worst, poorest, most desperate countries first, and work our way up. It is all a matter of a snowball rolling down a hill: An unstoppable force that, as it moves along, will grow larger and more powerful. All of this shall be accomplished, because we have THIS!

"With this Second Clockwerk, with its absolutely impregnable metal shield, which shall never corrode, or rust, or weaken, it shall be invincible to any possible weapon that may be used against it. From conventional firearms to missiles, and even suicide planes. It is also equipped with the most advanced form of machine guns, turrets, and heat-seeking, infrared-vision missiles. Its laser, though, is the true finishing touch. The laser can be emitted from the mouth of the beast at any time, anywhere, thanks to the solar power that this machine runs off of! Its deadly beam destroys anything that it hits or may pass through it, and upon impacting into a large enough target or the ground, instantly results in a massive explosion that, depending on the setting of the level of power put into it, engulfs everything in the area, in any and every direction, from as little as 100 feet, to as far as 5,000 feet!

"That, along with the unstoppable army of Robo-Falcons, Mech Eggs, and Attack Robots, as well as the additional service provided by you, we shall achieve these goals that so many in the past came so close to doing! That is why we are superior! We shall not fail! Today, we shall rewrite the history books, with ORNWOR as the publisher and Maximilian Vlotho as the author!"

He paused, letting his own words sink in for all of the men and for himself.

Finally, in his booming voice, he yelled: "Personnel!"

Just as they had been trained, every single guard snapped to Parade Rest at that moment, in perfect unison, with crispness and sharpness that would've put the United States Marines to shame.

"Attention!"

They all pulled their weapons back, closed their feet together, and placed both fists, clenched firmly, at their sides. Once again, in perfect unison, like a whole body.

With that, he slowly turned and stepped down off of the Clockwerk's head. He walked down towards the open hatch on top of the back, easing onto the edge and then dropping down into the bowels of the Second Clockwerk.

Inside, the area that was Clockwerk's actual body – the area between the two massive wings – was mostly hollow on the level he was on. The entire second level below housed all of the engines. The top level, where he was, was the actual cockpit. He dropped down right next to the massive pilot's chair, which was similar to most seats commonly seen on airliner jets. Before it was the massive control board. From wall to wall, there were buttons, switches, screens, lights, levers, gauges, radar readouts, and, above all, the steering mechanism.

Directly above the control board was the pair of yellow eyes. From the inside, they hardly appeared yellow. As a matter of fact, it was as if they were perfectly normal, clear windows. If anything, the view through the eyes magnified and put everything in the Clockwerk's line of vision into extreme high quality and focus, making visual precision almost just as good as electronic precision.

He moved the chair, brushing the right armrest thoughtfully as he passed by it. He slowly turned around and eased himself into the chair. He then slowly grabbed the lever at the front of the right armrest with the index finger and thumb of his right hand, ticking it forward ever so slightly, and moving it forward on the small track that it was on, moving out from underneath the open hatch and moving closer to the control board. He slowly looked around at all of the controls, at the so many different ways to operate this marvelous machine. He slowly closed his eyes and remembered all of the training that he had gone through for the last several years. All of the lectures by those scientists, telling him all of the basic controls, how to do this, how to do that, what he should never do, which controls he should use at what time, which two switches to never flip in rapid succession, and so on.

He started by reaching over and grabbing a single lever that was currently in the down position, facing towards him. He grabbed its vertical, T-like handle, and slowly pressed it forward, closing the hatch above him.

As he heard the hatch seal shut with a metallic click, then a slight thump as it fell into place and locked itself, he knew now that he was completely sealed inside. It was now impenetrable. He was alone inside this machine of pure majesty and destruction.

A feeling of relief, accomplishment, and satisfied hunger came over him as he slowly started to lift both hands towards the controls, repeating the pattern of buttons and switches that had recited to him umpteen times in his mind over and over again.

This is it…At long last.

To be continued…