The Factory: Part I
The Krak-Karov Volcano, Russia; Tuesday, June 14, 10:31 P.M…
Murray couldn't believe his eyes. He refused to believe it. He simply wouldn't…
He had returned. The same man who had pursued them through the streets and freeways of Los Angeles, through that dangerous mountain path in the helicopter…whom they had supposedly killed twice now. He had come back.
His outfit was clearly very worn, most likely after his near-death experience in the helicopter. There were several ragged holes in it, dangling pieces of cloth, and he was dirty and bruised. No blood was visible. Any weapons he might have had left were gone. He stood there, before Murray, fists clenched, having just thrown Murray's shotgun back behind him further down the hallway.
And Murray was inches away from him, still half-crouched and feeling more vulnerable and weak than he ever had before.
Without even thinking, Murray leapt to his feet and jumped backwards, flipping in mid-air. He could feel the rushing of air below him as the man swung his fist out in a powerful punch, barely missing.
Murray landed on his feet several feet away from the man. He quickly pulled the rifle slung over his shoulder down along his arm, whipping it into position in both hands, a full clip already loaded in. He took aim.
In a heartbeat, the man was upon him, grabbed the tip of the barrel, and yanked it up, aiming it away from his face just as Murray pulled the trigger. The shot went high and hit the ceiling, ricocheting off with a spark and the familiar sound echoing throughout the hall.
This time, Murray maintained an iron grip on the rifle, refusing to let go. The man jerked back on the rifle once, almost pulling it out of Murray's grip. But his pull was so strong, Murray felt several of his fingers instantly pop from the strain. He tightened his grip, despite the searing pain.
The man, realizing Murray's persistence, took another alternative. He wrapped one of his arms several times around the barrel, still keeping the tip away from him, and then, with all his might, swung it down as hard as he could, bringing his knee up from under it at the same time as fast as he could.
Murray could only watch in mute shock and horror as the Ruger snapped in half on the man's knee, metal, wood, and all. It took Murray a few more moments to register the reality of this, and, realizing the worthlessness of the half of the weapon he held in his hand, he threw it aside, turned, and bolted back down the hall. Bentley, now equally terrified, backed up against the massive metal door. Murray ran up beside him, furiously pushing against the door, slamming it repeatedly with his fists.
"Open up! OPEN UP!"
The man slowly lowered his knee, brushing it off ever so casually, removing the few remaining splinters of wood and shards of metal. He unwrapped his arm from the now-severed barrel, and lightly released it. It clattered to the ground.
Frantically, Bentley pressed the red button on the left armrest of his chair that deployed his built-in bino-cu-com and sleep dart gun. At the same time, the keyboard shot out from the left armrest across his lap.
"Hurry up, Murray! I'll try to hold him back!"
Instantly, Bentley fired the first dart. It sailed straight at the man and hit him in the chest. He paused, looked down at the puny dart sticking out of his chest, and nonchalantly grabbed it, pulled it out, and dropped it to the floor.
Bentley quickly started reloading the next dart, while Murray continued pounding on the door.
…
Private Knox sat on the other side of the metal door, leaning against the wall beside the door, arms folded in discontent. He let out yet another humph, signaling his infuriation at what had befallen him.
Being the newest recruit, having joined the group only about four weeks ago, he was the one who was left with the duty of guarding the factory. He was probably the only member of the personnel in the entire facility who wasn't at the grand launch ceremony right now. All of the other guards, those big fancy officers, those know-it-all technicians and scientists, and that mute, deaf coyote who followed Commander Vlotho everywhere like a lost puppy, were all in there right now, witnessing the moment that they had all been trained, been prepared, been waiting for. And he wasn't.
He took a deep breath and sighed, shaking his head. Now that he thought about it, being a member of this group didn't seem all that great. He wasn't one of the decorated, veteran officers who had been in the group since 1987. He wasn't one of the ingenious minds behind the massive beast that they spoke so much about, saying it would be the key to their world domination. Hell, he had never even seen this "Second Clockwerk." He was almost starting to doubt its existence. How could they possibly create a duplicate of something as fascinating as Clockwerk?
He snorted. That Vlotho was a nutcase. A grade-A psycho. A lunatic. All those talks of rewriting history and whatnot. It was ridiculous. It was a crazy man talking, telling them what to do, what to expect, and what would happen.
Still, if there was a Second Clockwerk, he would've liked to see it.
He glanced up from the metal, grated floor below him and looked up. This massive factory that he was in, with a massive network of metal platforms suspended in mid-air, of all shapes, sizes, and heights, and with all kinds of mechanical and electronic equipment on them, dotting the entire interior of the factory. From the ceiling up above, massive, bright light bulbs dangled from chains almost 200 feet long, with metal lampshades above them, and metal cages surrounding and protecting them. They provided sufficient lighting, the light glinting off of the metal. Everywhere in this factory, from the walls, to the platforms, to the railings, to the doors, even to some of the equipment, was constructed out of the unique metal found here and only here at the Krak-Karov Volcano. That crazy Vlotho called it "Clockwerk's metal." Everywhere the light hit the metal, it gleamed back with a strange level of beauty reminiscent of platinum.
Despite the bountiful light, the factory was completely empty. Not a single person remained throughout the entire massive building besides him. It was dead silent. There wasn't a single scientist, standing at the controls and watching the conveyor belts roll along with their deadly weapons in-the-making riding on them. There wasn't a single mechanical arm moving around, moving the materials into place. There wasn't a single conveyor belt, rolling along with its steady hum. There wasn't a single creak. There wasn't a single beep. There wasn't a single groan. Everything was shut down. It was completely still, and completely silent. He could hear a pin drop yards away if it happened.
This place was as creepy as hell.
He shook it off and tried to think of something else to keep him from scaring himself like a child. He decided to think about the one area of the factory that he couldn't see: The very bottom. This thought prompted him to look down through the metal grating of the floor, into the darkness below. The men around here called that area Hell's Roof. It was mostly empty, bare, and dark, save for one common feature: Massive metal vats all lined up in long rows. Dozens upon dozens of them, huge, tall, and wide. They were all full of completed Mech Eggs containing Attack Robots, and Robo-Falcons, all curled up with their wings covering most of their bodies and talons pulled in closer to their bodies, as if sleeping. It was an entire dormant army down there, waiting to be awakened. He thought about the one time he had actually been to Hell's Roof; standing among those massive metal silos, looking into the cold, lifeless eyes of the Robo-Falcons as they slept…
He soon found himself shaking off this thought too, since it was just as creepy to him as the thought of being alone in here. He sighed once more. The brief sound of his exhalation instantly vanishing into the darkness and silence…
Then, in a heartbeat, the silence was shattered like glass when there was a sudden loud pounding on the door next to him, causing him to jump and stumble briefly. It sounded like a muffled explosion to him, standing right next to it and all. It was a massive pounding, repeatedly rattling on the other side of the door. At one point, it became so intense that the door itself was actually shaking ever so slightly in its frame.
He then heard a voice on the other side, deep and frantic. "Open up! OPEN UP!"
It clearly wasn't Russian, which was pretty much the first language of this group. It didn't sound like anyone he knew around here.
Yet the pounding continued, unceasing and growing louder, faster, and harder.
He stood away from the wall now, a hand on one of his two pistols holstered at his side. It was the one on his left; a 44. Magnum Colt Anaconda. One of the toughest handguns in the world, with one hell of an impact and recoil. He gripped the handle of it, ready to pull it out in a moment's notice.
The pounding continued. It was clear that it wasn't going to stop. He figured that he might as well open it. If it was a comrade, then he would have the situation explained to him. If it was an intruder, he would blow them away in an instant.
He pulled his gun out and held it at the ready in one hand. With the other, he reached up and spun the dial on the door in the counterclockwise direction, opposite the one on the other side of the door, until it stopped spinning. He then slowly grabbed the vertical handle sticking straight out of the door, and slowly slid it back through the crevice, towards the end.
He held up the pistol, ready for anything.
Then the handle reached the other end of the crevice.
Before he even had time to react, the door swung open faster than he thought possible for a door of this size. It swung straight out at him, smacking into him hard and lifting his feet off the ground. He found himself pressed against the door due to it moving so fast, and before he knew it, the door had swung completely open, slamming against the wall behind it, catching him between the door and the wall.
He was out before he even hit the floor.
…
Murray, recovering from his charged-up run at the door from nearly 8 feet away, shook his head and looked up. He saw that the door was finally open, and grabbed Bentley by the back of his wheelchair, practically throwing him in through the open door. He then ran inside behind him, reached over and grabbed the edge of the door, and with more might and adrenaline than he ever had put into a single effort before, he swung the massive door shut again just as the man was two feet from the door. He slammed it into place, grabbed the vertical handle, and slid it back into place. He then grabbed the dial and spun it around furiously in the opposite direction, sealing that lock as well.
Just then, there was another fierce pound on the door, even harder and deeper than Murray's. It was followed by another, and then another.
Murray, thoroughly exhausted and with his heart still racing due to the terrifying encounter and disbelief at what was happening, stepped back from the door with small, weak steps, almost tripping on his own feet at one point.
"Did…did you see him? It's him! He's back!"
"My sleep dart seemed to have no effect on him, either." Bentley replied in a depressed tone.
"Are you kidding? He snapped the Ruger clean in half on his knee! I've never seen him do anything like that! I've never seen anyone do that! Do you know what it takes to break a gun?"
"Well, never mind. That door's obviously very secure, so we're safe for a while here…"
Bentley turned around as he said this, and stopped in mid-sentence when he saw just where they were.
"Oh…my…"
Bentley couldn't even think of a good finishing third word for that statement.
Murray soon saw the same thing, and realized it as well.
"Whoa…what is this place?"
"If I'm not mistaken, it's some kind of factory." Bentley then craned his neck back to look up at the ceiling, barely visible in the darkness beyond the reach of light. "And judging by the size of this place, I'd say we're now in the area of the facility that was up against the Volcano wall. The area where there were high concentrations of radioactivity as well."
He then looked down at the small screen on his right armrest.
"And we're still on the right track. According to this, Sly's up ahead, somewhere either in or beyond this factory."
"Well, let's go!"
At that moment, there was another loud slam on the door, much more powerful than before. Murray turned around just in time to see another slam just like the last, and the door actually leaned forward under the force.
As he looked back at the door, he finally noticed the single guard lying on the floor, against the wall, behind the door. A pigeon, with a pistol still gripped in his hand.
"Well, would you look at that?"
He quickly turned around and headed over to the guard, ducking instinctively as another slam sounded, and kneeled down.
"Wonder what happened to him?"
"Never mind that, Murray! Just grab his gun and let's go!"
Murray pried the .44 Magnum revolver from the guard's motionless hand and placed it in his belt. He then jumped to his feet, spun around, and began descending down the staircase after his friend.
"If he gets through, we're gonna have to find a place to hide!" Murray declared.
"I think we might have all of that covered already. This place is full of equipment and machinery. But for now, let's just focus on getting through this place to wherever Sly is."
They reached the bottom of the staircase and started across the first metal platform.
…
Knox's mind was in a daze, stars dancing in front of his eyes and his vision fading between reality and pure blackness. He heard a whole cacophony of sounds buzzing in his ears, unable to discern real sounds from the fake sounds. He thought he heard voices, speaking in English…
All through the ordeal, there was always a loud slamming sound every few seconds.
He slowly managed to lift his head and look around, eyes half shut. The rest of his body felt completely limp.
Then, ever so gradually, feeling started to return to his body. It was a feeling of pain. He felt like he had just had the wind knocked out of him by a speeding train, or maybe a jet. It hurt just to try to lift his arm up to grab anything that he could use to pull himself up. He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to recollect his mind, and looked around again, opening his eyes wide and closing them shut repeatedly to try to ward off the dancing stars and black spots.
He was lying on the floor, right behind the massive metal door. He was leaning up against the wall behind it, his head facing the direction of the door. He slowly moved his right arm inward towards his body, trying to prop himself up on one elbow. Another stab of pain.
He propped himself up sideways just as there was another loud bang. He glanced at the door, which had just settled back into place.
The door…
It was starting to come back to him. He remembered hearing a frantic pounding on the other side of the door, and a voice yelling to be let in. He remembered opening the door…
The door…
It was the door that had knocked him out. He remembered it so clearly now. The door had swung open.
He paused, halfway through pulling his other arm back to prop himself up on both arms, as the realization dawned on him.
Someone had gotten in.
Those voices… He clearly remembered the one that shouted to be let in repeatedly…but had he heard another one? A second one?
He propped himself up partially and looked down the staircase, at the first platform below. He couldn't see any movement. The factory was still eerily silent and still.
Then, as he regained more feeling, his hearing improved slightly. Could he hear steps retreating on the metal, just beyond his line of vision?
He slowly lifted up the top half of his body and around. He eventually managed to glance up at the door. On cue, there was another furious slam. This wasn't like the desperate, frantic, repeated pounding from earlier. This was one loud, firm, and powerful pound every few seconds.
He leaned up and started the painful process of lifting himself up to his knees. He managed to do so, but as he straightened up, he could already feel pain and limpness take over, and he started to fall backwards. He reached out behind him with one hand and grabbed onto the metal railing as he fell, managing to grab it and stop just before he could slam backwards onto the metal floor.
His arm twisted behind him, and he struggled to maintain his grip. He then took a deep breath, mustered all of his strength, and pulled himself back against the railing, placing his feet beneath him and gaining firm ground just as another loud bang slammed against the door nearby.
With a slight wobble here or there, he finally managed to stand up straight, his back against the railing.
He raised a hand and placed it against his forehead. He had taken one hell of a hit.
Then, finally, he noticed the oddity. One hand was against his forehead, and the other was holding onto the railing behind him.
But when he had been hit, his pistol was in his left hand.
He pulled his left hand down from his forehead and looked at it just to be sure. It was empty.
Someone had definitely come through here. And they took his gun.
Cautiously, he reached for the other one, this one being a classic .357 revolver, and whipped it out. He held this one firmly in both hands, tightly gripping the handle, and managed to move away from behind the door, standing directly in front of it. The gun was halfway up, between the floor and directly aiming at the door.
There was another furious pound, louder than before. As the pounds continued, they only got louder and harder, and the door seemed to actually move further and further.
Then, suddenly, something he never could've imagined happened right before his very eyes.
One of the door's massive hinges, the one on the top, actually snapped. Just barely, but one of the thick rivets was knocked out of place, and a corner of the huge door now jutted out irregularly.
The door was actually being broken down.
Knox, out of fear and instinct, stepped back several more feet, with the top of the staircase just a couple feet behind him. He raised the pistol higher.
Then another pound. Half of the hinge now had broken off, and was bending in an irregular shape. The door was definitely taking damage. Another slam. That hinge was definitely on its last legs…
The next hit finally did it. The hinge flew off from the impact, clattering to the floor a few feet beside Knox.
He couldn't believe it. This door, the thickest and most secure door in the entire facility, along with the door of the main hangar, was actually being smashed through.
He couldn't stand the very thought of whatever was on the other side.
Apparently, somehow, the person on the other side could sense that significant damage had been done, and started pounding away even harder, with the pounds being delivered with more strength and in quicker intervals.
Finally, the gun was aimed directly at the door, right in the center of the dial in the middle of the door.
Despite the powerful gun he had on him, and the knowledge that he was safe this time, being out of the way of the door, Knox still felt a great level of unease. With each pound, his fear increased. His knees started to buckle, and his gun started to shake.
From that point, he wasn't sure if it was several seconds, several minutes, or even ten minutes. But, after a nonstop string of pounding, the door weakened further and further, more hinges and rivets and bolts coming out, until, finally, it was off. With a single, loud slam, followed by the deep groaning of bending metal, the last of the hinges came off, and the last of the locks were broken through. The massive door moved forward several inches, then hung limply in its frame, leaning back slightly.
For a few long seconds, there was silence.
Then, with a lurch, the door moved ahead even further, finally and completely breaking free of its frame. He noticed, briefly, two hands on the door; one hand on each side, fingers barely visible as they wrapped around the massive metal door.
Then, with a heave, the unseen force lifted the door up off of the floor and practically threw the massive slat of metal to the left, where it spun briefly on its bottom end, then fell straight down and clattered to the metal floor, the dial and vertical handle from the other side facing up, and with several slight dents in the thick metal.
For a few moments, Knox was stupefied. Then he slowly looked up at the head of the towering figure standing where the door had been a few seconds ago. He realized now that, where the gun had previously been aimed at the door's central dial, it was now barely aiming at the man's stomach.
The man, with fists slowly clenching and tightening, a firm stance, and the look of death in his blank eyes, looked right through Knox's soul.
Knox felt like he was going to wet himself. He barely managed to keep the gun secure in both hands.
For a few long seconds, it was a standoff that would've made a fish blink. Neither moved, or spoke, or made any gesture towards the other. Silence fell over the factory once again, the distant echo of the door's clatter to the ground fading away…
The large man slowly lifted up one foot.
"NO!" Knox screamed. With a reflexive step back, he took aim, closed one eye, and instantly fired all six shots in rapid succession.
With each shot plating directly into the man's chest at point-blank range, he froze for a split-second, then jerked back slightly with each shot.
Even after all six shots were gone, Knox continued pulling back on the trigger, with two empty clicks sounding as the empty chamber spun around in two brief rotations, before realizing that his weapon was empty.
He slowly opened one eye and ever so slightly lowered the pistol.
The man was frozen where he stood, one foot still slightly ahead of the other. Then he took a single step backward.
His head then hung low, his arms moved out in front of him slightly, and he fell backwards with a long, seemingly slow-motion tumble. When the large man slammed down onto the metal floor behind him, it resounded all throughout the factory with a slam of body against metal, seemingly louder than any of the slams made while he repeatedly bashed on the door. The massive head leaned back ever so slightly, the arms both turning slightly so that the palms faced inward towards his body, rather than flat against the cold, metal floor.
The moment he hit the ground, and after the last few pre-mortem moments, his body was completely still. Like a statue, there was no movement, no sign of life from the absolutely motionless and lifeless figure.
He lowered his gun. He took another step back out of shock and fear. He looked back briefly to see how close he was to the tall, narrow metal staircase behind him. It was barely a foot away from him, stretching down 20 feet to the next platform…
He turned and looked back at the body of the man he had just shot…
…which was now standing straight up, right in front of him.
Knox didn't even have time to think about it. He raised his pistol again, but only after he pulled the trigger once did he remember that his chamber was empty.
The man crossed his right arm over his chest, fist clenched, then swung it sideways with all his might, knocking the worthless pistol out of Knox's hand. It flew from his hand, over the railing, and fell down into the chasm below.
At the same time, the force of the impact sent Knox stumbling backwards, and before he realized what was happening, he was tumbling head over feet down the metal staircase, repeatedly slamming against either the steps or the railing, pain shooting through his body as the world spun around him and didn't stop.
Eventually, finally, he felt the longer and harder impact as his body finally reached the bottom of the staircase. Even so, the world continued spinning around him in a daze, his vision fading in and out, just like after he had been hit by the door.
This time, however, the pain was even greater and prevented him from moving at all. When he tried to move even slightly, he felt a powerful shot of pain ring up and down his body three times. It was most powerful in his left leg. It was stinging, burning, as if a knife had been shoved through it and pulled back out.
He barely managed to move his eyes down to look at his leg. It was leaking blood just below the knee, and he could've sworn that he saw a fragment of white sticking out among the torn flesh and red blood. It was definitely broken.
As he tried his hardest to stay conscious, he could hear a rhythmic pounding sounding above and behind him. It was the all-too familiar sound of footsteps on metal, one after the other in perfect cadence, as his attacker slowly and tauntingly came down the stairs after him.
The only thought going through Knox's mind at that moment wasn't pain, fear, or anger. It was shock. Disbelief.
I shot him…I shot him six times…Six times…in the chest…I shot…him…
Then, the footsteps stopped just as they were at their loudest. He could sense the massive presence towering over him from behind. At the very edge of his periphery, he could see the massive boot raise up into the air, directly over his head. It came down, the darkness rushing at him and being all that he could see.
…
He crushed the pigeon's neck as effortless as one would step on a twig in the park in autumn. He then brushed the limp body aside with one foot as if it were a piece of garbage. He slowly advanced down the metal platform, past all of the equipment, searching relentlessly for his true prey. That pigeon was only an appetizer; a brief satisfaction after several days of not killing, especially after such a long and successful killing spree.
As he continued walking, he briefly reached under his shirt to adjust his Kevlar vest.
He walked down the metal platform, his footsteps clanging off the metal and echoing back into the distance, slowly slipping away into silence. He glanced side-to-side over and over again, carefully observing the entire area as he progressed through. He remembered this area as he came through it once before, to meet up with his latest client. He memorized the entire main path, as well as several side areas and raised platforms around the main area. He also remembered one crucial fact: There were only two ways out of this factory. One was the entrance that he had just burst through, and the other was the elevator leading up to his client's elegant private quarters. And there was no way out of that chamber. Thus, he didn't necessarily have to capture his prey. All he had to do was keep pushing his prey back further and further through the factory, eventually forcing them into a complete corner where they would be doomed. He knew that they had no weapons on them. Neither did he, but he was clearly physically superior and would dispatch both of them in a heartbeat. Then he could find the other two, wherever they were, somewhere in this facility…
But as he progressed along, past all of the equipment, searching slowly and patiently for his targets, he felt something else brewing inside of him. Something he had never felt before. A different feeling…a feeling that told him that, despite all of his training, and experience, and teachings, this particular venture was no longer strictly business. He had no idea how; all odds and logic defied it. But somehow, miraculously, these last four targets had escaped him not once, but twice. Never before had even one target survived more than one encounter with him. Most never even did survive their first – and last – meeting. Not even one; let alone four. But they had defeated him several times; first in his stolen police car, then in his stolen semi-truck, then in his stolen helicopter. Three times they managed to cripple his mode of transportation and humiliate him. But now…no more. No more of them evading him and running from the inevitable. Now he would thoroughly destroy each and every one of these last four targets. Slowly, painfully, and surely. Revenge would be his.
…
Bentley and Murray raced down the stairs, along the first long metal platform, and ran past all of the machinery, equipment, and other futuristic features of the factory. However, every time Bentley looked back, he could still see the massive door in the distance. He could also hear a repeated pounding coming from the door every few seconds.
"This is ridiculous!" He exclaimed. "If we keep running in a straight line, he'll follow us no problem! We have to start zigzagging through here to throw him off our trail!"
"Got it!" Murray agreed.
They both turned to the nearest juncture, on their left, which was a staircase of only three steps, which ran under one of the long conveyor belts, and led to a smaller platform that was just about level with the conveyor belt. When they saw that it was a dead end, they both turned and jumped onto the motionless conveyor belt and ran down it. They eventually reached the end of the belt, ending in a massive metal box with a small opening in the front of it. Bentley used his chair's built-in afterburner to jump to the top, while Murray leapt up after him with his own strength. From the top of the box, they were able to leap to another metal platform a few feet across from it, directly above the main path below them.
Looking down through the metal grating, they could see that they were now at least 20 to 25 feet above the first platform. Looking up at the surroundings level with them, they could now see two different paths extending out from the main platform they were on right now. One that ran forward, directly parallel and running in the same direction as the main path, and one branching out to the right, with several more monitors and control boards. They opted to take the platform running parallel to the main path, running along the much narrower platform as they continued to move further away from the door.
Then, suddenly, after the long, repetitive series of pounds that they had grown used to hearing as their follower pounded on the door, there was suddenly yet another, much louder bang, followed by a huge metal clang.
Both paused right where they were, turning back in the direction of the door. However, with the grated floor of the platform they were running on coming between them and the door, combined with the distance that they had put between themselves and the door, they couldn't clearly make out what was happening at the entrance.
Then, they heard a voice. "NO!"
Following the yell were six rapid, loud gunshots in quick succession. Then there was a loud, dull thump that echoed throughout the factory.
Both exchanged a nervous glance. Had their attacker been shot down by the guard they came across? Or had the tables somehow been horribly turned for that unfortunate guard?
A few more seconds of silence passed.
Then, they could hear the sound of a loud smack, then the sound of a metal object clattering to the floor so distant, it sounded as if it had fallen off the edge to the unseen bottom floor below. Then they heard a series of rapid smacking sounds, much less powerful and not as loud, but still echoing throughout the empty, deserted factory. It sounded as if someone was falling, rolling along.
Then it stopped. Silence once again…
Then a sound reminiscent of a heartbeat. There was a low, metal pounding in perfect rhythm, one after the other. Heavy footfalls on the metal floor in the distance.
Then, suddenly, there was a sharp crack that resounded loud and clear, right up to them. It was as if a massive tree branch had been snapped a few feet away. It was a sick and nauseating noise that they knew could only be the sound of some bone or other body part breaking. Bentley briefly felt bile rising in his throat, then quickly forced it back down before it could come up any further.
"What was that?" Murray whispered, sick to his stomach.
"Sounds like that guard you ran into had a rather rude awakening." Bentley replied weakly.
"Come on, we have to keep moving."
They continued down the path a little further, only to find that it was a dead end.
"Shoot. Go back."
They both returned to the platform directly across from the top of the metal box they had jumped onto, and turned down the other path. This one went out to the right for a while, slightly wider than the path they had chosen before. They continued along it, moving out away from the main path. It bended hard to the left, running parallel with the main pathway, and descended into a thin metal staircase. They both quickly descended and found themselves on a platform that was just slightly higher up than the main one. There was a smaller conveyor belt extending even further out away from the main platform just beside and above this one. However, they decided to go straight ahead. There was another platform, elevated just six feet higher than the one they were on, with a single ladder leading up to it rather than a staircase.
Bentley swiftly and easily jumped up and boosted his wheelchair up and onto the platform, while Murray quickly scaled the ladder. He was just at the top and about to pull himself over and onto the platform.
Suddenly, the extremely faint report of an explosion could be heard, and the entire factory started shaking. There was a low rumbling, and the entire building seemed to suddenly wobble on its foundations, like an earthquake had just struck with its epicenter directly beneath them. Looser equipment was rattling, and Bentley's chair was nearly rolling around on its own. Simultaneously with the deep rumbling and shaking, an alarm suddenly went off, the loud blaring sounding repeatedly, each one deep and stretched out for about two seconds, with a half-second pause between each one. Several red alarm lights flicked on all across the factory, spinning around wildly like a sped-up lighthouse, casting their eerie red glow on various areas of the factory in complete rotations.
As a result, Murray lost his grip on the ladder. In desperation, he reached out with a wild swing of his right hand, and grabbed a lever on the control panel nearest him, swiftly pulling it into the down position.
This unprecedented accident caused a very loud hum to sound, followed by a metallic rattling, as one of the conveyor belts nearby was started. Murray, realizing what had happened, released the lever and fell back onto the platform below, hitting with a loud metal clang.
Bentley looked around frantically at the many flashing lights, then down at Murray after he fell.
"Murray, get up! Quick!"
Murray propped himself up on his elbows and looked around. Initially, he couldn't see any sign of their follower. But the many flashing lights and rattling equipment were now providing even more sufficient cover for them, with the various sounds and movements serving as distractions.
However, as he glanced to the left at the nearby main path, he thought he saw a massive shadow disappear behind a thick metal crane.
He scrambled to his feet and wasted no time in jumping up onto the platform rather than climbing up the ladder again, and landed next to Bentley.
"What's happening here?" Murray asked nervously, glancing at the many red lights.
"Something set off the alarm!"
"Oh, no! Was it that lever I pulled?"
"No, it started before that. There was some kind of rumbling…"
Then, a few seconds later, there was yet another loud report, slightly more audible and clearly stronger than the first, and the entire building shook again. At this shaking, all of the regular lights in the factory suddenly winked off, some with small showers of sparks, instantly bathing the already borderline-pitch black factory in a pale, eerie shade of red. Murray stumbled to the left, sticking his hand out. He accidentally pressed three different buttons at once. All at once, three different things happened: A metal gate at the entrance of a small metal box on one of the conveyor belts lifted up, then slammed back down with a clang. At the same time, a nearby press slammed down onto the conveyor belt, then slowly lifted up.
"Murray, watch it! All of this mechanical activity could-."
Just then, there was a huge presence directly between them, having jumped down from an unseen platform higher up, landing directly between them, back to Bentley, facing Murray.
Murray, having just recovered from his last stumble, slowly looked up at the towering beast. It glared down at him with dead eyes.
Murray wasted no time in reacting, and quickly raised the Magnum to aim right between those dead eyes…
…only for the massive hand to swipe right in front of him and send the pistol flying out of his grip just as he was about to pull the trigger. It flew over the gap between the platforms and hit one of the control panels, the impact discharging one shot into the adjacent control panel, hitting right in the middle of a small keyboard and sending a shower of sparks flying with an electrical surge. A mechanical arm nearby started swerving side-to-side wildly. The gun, after the initial impact, bounced up and fell behind the control panel, landing on the small portion of platform right between the control panel and the abyss below. The barrel fell between one of the open rectangles in the grating, its much thicker chamber and handle being the only things keeping it from slipping through and into the abyss below.
Murray's hand recoiled from the sharp strike, his right hand clutching his left wrist. He grimaced, then looked up again.
He grabbed Murray around the throat, lifting him up into the air. Murray grabbed at the massive hand with both of his, struggling to get some air. He was lifted even higher up off the ground, the man staring hard through his own eyes.
As Murray gasped and struggled, he looked over the man's head at Bentley, who was slowly and cautiously wheeling backwards as he loaded up another sleeping dart. He slowly aimed the gun, and then fired.
Murray looked back down at his assailant, whose expression briefly changed as he registered the impact of the dart, and finally sprang into action. With a muffled yell, he swung both legs back, then thrust them forward and planted them on the man's chest, pushing off with a hard shove. The man granted and stumbled backward, releasing his grip and allowing Murray to fall free, landing on the ground safely on both feet.
Clutching his chest, he grunted briefly again, almost moving to the side in a brief falter. He reached one hand behind him to pull out the dart and toss it aside.
Murray took full advantage of this distraction and charged head-on, fists behind him. When he was close enough to his opponent, he swung his fists forward and slammed them both against the man's chest. He stumbled backward several more feet, allowing Murray to straighten up, jump up, and deliver a swift spinning kick to his chest. This blow finally knocked him down, sending him tumbling to the floor.
With wide eyes, he looked up at the ceiling blankly as if he had just been tranquilized, feigning temporary disablement.
Just as he expected, the hippo roared and leapt into the air, spinning around and spreading out all of his limbs, stomach facing down at him in one of the hippo's signature fighting moves.
At the last moment, he threw his body to the side and rolled out of the way, with Murray's Thunder Flop harmlessly hitting the metal floor. Wasting no time, he jumped to his feet, bent down, grabbed the hippo by the scarf and back of his neck with one hand, and his belt with the other hand, and yanked him off the floor. Turning to face the control panels, he swung his heavy load sideways and slammed him into the controls, smashing up numerous switches and sending shards of metal and spikes flying. Bentley cried out in terror, and aimed his sleeping dart gun once more.
However, the assailant anticipated this and swung the hippo back to the side, covering most of his torso. The dart, already fired, impacted into Murray's chest.
Bentley's eyes widened. "No!"
He grinned, then did a full 360-degree spin before releasing the hippo as he faced the direction of the main path. The hippo was flung from his grip and soared over the canyon between the two platforms, flying head-first towards it and barely managing to land on it due to it being slightly lower than the one that he was previously on. He hit the metal and slid across, the top of his head slamming into the base of one of the control panels. Unbeknownst to him, that very control panel was the only thing separating him and his lost pistol.
Now separated from his friend and guardian from this attacker, Bentley's fear shot up like a thermometer in molten lava.
"Murray! Murray, are you OK?"
The man slowly turned to face the turtle in the wheelchair. Bentley looked through his glasses and into those horrible eyes.
"…No…"
The man took a step.
"NO!" Bentley spun around as if on a motorcycle and instantly wheeled forward as fast as he could, away from his pursuer. He raced down the platform, the hunter slowly and steadily following his prey.
As Bentley wheeled with all of his might, his usual low amount of energy was now increased tenfold by the force of pure fear and adrenaline. His breathing was loud, quick, and raspy, but he lost track of all speed, breathing rate, and surroundings as only one thought dominated his mind: Run.
At one point, after he had jumped up one staircase, made another right turn, then a left, then down a staircase that led him to a platform much lower than the main one, he dared to look back.
There was no sign of his follower.
It took him a little more distance to slow down and finally stop, only turning his head around rather than his wheelchair as he looked around behind him. He paused and listened intently, trying to tune out the beating of his own heart, as well as his own deep breathing, and above all, that irritating alarm and those cursed flashing lights. He could not hear any ominous footsteps, nor could he see any movement. Even the few apparatuses of machinery that had been accidentally turned on back near where they first encountered him had dropped from view.
He looked around, then glanced up. The main path was above and to his left, too high up for his afterburners to reach. He looked down the path and saw a massive ladder stretching up to a platform about nine feet above, which then branched off into a small catwalk that ran under the main platform to the other side. He rolled back a little, then charged at it and activated his afterburner at the last moment, pressing the button once and boosting a couple feet into the air beyond his initial jump. He waited until he was at the very top of the arc for the first boost, then pressed the button a second time, boosting higher. He waited for a second, then pressed it a third and final time. By now, he was nearly at the top of the ladder. He reached out and meant to grab the edge of the platform itself, but his gloved hands slipped and he only caught the top rung.
With the two belts – one around his waist and one slung diagonally across his torso – keeping the chair from falling away beneath him, he hung there limply. The chair dangled down, its wheels extending to their fullest length on the accordion-like axles. He glanced down at the floor too far below now. He looked back up at the platform he was on, and reached one hand up further, sliding it across the safer metal floor. His fingers eventually slipped into one of the rectangular holes, and he dug them in further, maintaining a much firmer grip. He then slowly released his other hand from the rung and slid it further as well, finding another handhold.
Thus, he continued inching up delicately like this for about a minute before he was finally over the edge. He quickly straightened up and sat back in his comforting wheelchair, rolling away from the edge quickly. He looked back down at the platform below and still saw no sign of the man trailing him. He turned and quickly moved down the very narrow catwalk, underneath the main platform. Through the grated floor above him, the red lights cast down on him in hundreds of small rectangles. He looked above him, and still saw no sign of the man.
As he moved along, he glanced over the edge and into the abyss below. He still couldn't see the floor of the factory. However, he could now see something else. Just barely on the edge of the light, he thought he could see numerous massive circular outlines. Almost like the top of a ship's smokestack or a tunnel, these massive outlines had darkness both outside and inside them. But there were dozens, lining the area below. Clearly, they were some form of silo or funnel, all containing something…
He made it to the other side. At the end of the catwalk, he boosted up to the main platform with ease rather than ascending the small staircase and running around another small platform and taking the actual path. He was surrounded by more machinery, and there was a single conveyor belt still running parallel to the main platform on its left. However, further down, there was yet another massive metal box interrupting the belt, similar to the one that he and Murray had jumped onto to climb up higher. However, this one didn't have an opening at the conveyor belt. Instead, there was a small thin pipe sticking out and ending at a fairly large metal block that was situated between the pipe and the end of the conveyor belt. He moved down past the box, moving further into the factory.
He remembered what had led them here in the first place and glanced down at his right armrest. Just like before, the screen clearly displayed the signal emitted by Sly's communicator as being directly ahead.
However, he stopped and slowly turned around. Looking back down through the factory, past the flashing, spinning red lights and the blaring alarm, he remembered that Murray was still back there somewhere. And a heated battle was raging in his mind.
Oh…should I go back? I can't leave Murray alone! But then again…Murray's perfectly capable of handling himself. He had plenty of time to get up while that…thing was chasing me.
He strained to look harder through the darkness. He snapped his fingers and pressed a button on his left armrest, deploying the bino-cu-com. He then pressed a small button on the underside and to the right. Instantly, the regular view switched to its pale green and black night-vision version. There was still no distinct sign of Murray or the assassin. There were frantic flashes of green wherever the lights spun into his field of view, but that was it.
With a mumble, he pressed the same button again, deactivating the night-vision, and then pressed a button right next to the previous one. The regular vision switched to an infrared version, with various colors such as red, blue, and black now dominating his vision. The black surrounded him on all sides and above, representing the dark, empty space, with the blue beneath him and immediately around him representing the cold metal. Peering hard into the distance and zooming in, he thought he could see some white shapes in the distance. However, one was large and long, with three smaller appendages sticking out from the end. It was moving frantically back and forth, animated with life and hot with electricity. A loose crane arm. Just below it, there was a consistent blur of white and red, spurting it out like a fire hydrant.
No sign of Murray or the man.
Sighing, Bentley shut off the infrared vision and retracted the bino-cu-com. He glanced down at the small screen on the right armrest of his chair, with the dot representing Sly's communicator still ahead, slightly to the left.
He glanced back in the direction where he had last seen either of the two, and still saw nothing. It was clearly useless to run around the factory any longer, desperately searching for either of them. There was a perfect 50-50 chance of him running into that man instead of Murray. Besides, Murray was clearly more capable of handling this threat than he was. All that was left to do was continue on as planned. Rendezvous with Sly, then find Murray, and then try to find Penelope in this place.
Slowly turning around, he began moving further through the factory, honing in on Sly's signal.
Wherever you are, Murray…watch your back.
…
Murray slowly recovered from the blow, spots dancing in his vision and the red lights flashing in his periphery. All the while, the blaring alarm seared through his thoughts as he slowly lifted himself up and looked around.
He was back on the main platform, his face directly against a control panel. He slowly reached up and started to grab it, then remembered how he had accidentally pulled a lever and hit two buttons before. He pulled his hands lower to grab the actual edge of the panel rather than among the controls, and pulled himself to his feet. He stood up, placed a hand on his back, and arched his back with a crack and a groan. He winced, then slowly opened his eyes and glanced side-to-side. He then spun around to face the direction he had been thrown from.
The attacker was gone. And so was Bentley.
Murray did a quick spin, scanning his entire environment for any sign of movement. He noticed that a control panel right next to the one he had hit was damaged, sparks shooting out of it, wires protruding, and pieces of debris on the floor in front of it. A crane arm beyond the panels was spinning wildly side-to-side as a result, recklessly moving around with nothing to stop it.
He glanced back to the right sharply when he thought he saw a shape disappear behind a console. For a few long moments he stared intently at the object, daring for it to come out from behind.
Nothing.
Then another shadow darted under the edge of the platform on his left. He jumped to the side, away from where he had seen it, and raised his fists.
Nothing.
He then slowly looked up at the nearest red light, spinning around repeatedly. Wherever the light wasn't, there was darkness. As the light moved, it chased the shadows around in endless rotations, casting them all around and making them appear to be in motion.
Murray's head was spinning. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his left hand, sighing as he realized that he was just seeing things.
Nevertheless, the fact still remained: That killer was somewhere in this factory.
Murray slowly lowered his hand from his forehead and adjusted his belt. He dropped his hands to his sides, clenching them tightly in his fists. He could faintly hear the stretching of the leather of his gloves as he squeezed.
He slowly advanced along the platform.
As he walked along, he constantly swiveled his head side to side, back and forth, scanning the area around him, remaining ever alert, his senses heightened by the feeling of danger, the adrenaline shooting through his system, the heating of his blood…and the omnipresent feeling of fear.
Everywhere he looked, however, there was nothing but pure darkness. Emptiness. Endless void, surrounding on all sides. The only source of illumination came from the dozens of red lights spinning around at various locations along the path. There was also that extremely irritating alarm. While not particularly shrill, high-pitched, or anything immediately painful to listen to, it was certainly consistent and loud, and also prevented him from being able to audibly detect the crouching predator somewhere in this jungle of metal and technology.
His thoughts racing faster than a race car, the flashing red lights switching between light and dark all around him, the blaring alarm sounding as if it was right in his ears, and that itching sensation of fear tugging at his mind and making his heart beat furiously…all of this contributed to his slowly-growing state of delirium. Shadows continued dancing around him, all seeming exactly the same but all seeming capable of being the man that he was hunting…
…Or was he hunting him?
Suddenly, the floor fell away from him, and he was up in the air, the lights spinning around even faster as, he soon realized, he started spinning. The ceiling was directly in front of him, and then the platform was in front of him, the alarm still blaring…
Then he caught a glimpse of the man who had grabbed him from behind and heaved him up into the air. He was standing below him, looking up at him and waiting for him to come back down so that he could deliver another blow.
In a split second, Murray recollected his thoughts and his senses, and waited for gravity to take hold of him. Once he felt himself start to fall back down, he straightened out his limbs, closed his legs firmly together, and closed his eyes. As he fell, he fell straight down, feet pointing to the floor.
He slowly spun around as he drew closer to the ground. Once he knew that he was facing his attacker, he let out a loud roar and stuck out his right leg, spinning around in a full circle and delivering a swift spinning kick. He felt the hard impact of his foot against the side of the man's head, and he knew that he had caught him off-guard. He opened his eyes just as he landed on the metal floor, leaning forward and planting his palms on the floor in front of him to land in a crouching position as he finally touched down. He looked to the right and saw the man stumbling aside, one hand clutching the side of his head where Murray had kicked him.
Murray sprang into action instantly, leaping to his feet and charging at the man. He grabbed him, wrapping his arms around his chest, and pushed him further until he slammed into a control console. He then leaned back and started delivering swift punches in rapid succession, one after the other, repeatedly striking the man's face again and again. However, he had barely got in five or six punches before the man's tree limbs of arms swung up and grabbed Murray's wrists, flinging him aside and sending him sprawling across the metal for several yards.
By the time Murray got back to his feet, the man was already upon him, grabbing him by his shoulders and lifting him up, pinning his arms down as well. He then spun Murray around in his arms and slammed him onto the floor beside him. Murray, lying on the floor and facing the ceiling, had his head right up against the man's left foot.
The man, looking down at Murray like a stain on a carpet, lifted up his left foot slowly.
Murray instantly rolled out of the way just as the man's foot slammed down on the metal. Murray, now lying on his stomach, quickly pushed himself up off the floor and stepped backwards, feeling the rush of air as the man's right hook barely missed him. Murray charged at him with another spinning kick just as he reached him, but the man stuck his hands out and grabbed Murray by the foot as he was about to hit him. He lifted Murray's foot up higher than Murray could hold it, and pulled Murray's other foot out from under him as a result. Murray fell backwards and the back of his head slammed against the metal. The man still had him by the foot, and slowly started to drag him backwards. Then he swung around and, just as he had lifted Murray up off the floor, he released his grip on Murray's foot and sent him flying ahead on the path even further.
Murray was in a daze now, the hits and the throws and the pain starting to kick in. The thumping of the man's footsteps grew louder, and they were the only thing that motivated Murray enough to get up even through the pain. He wobbled briefly as he staggered to his feet, and managed to stand straight up as he stared down the approaching attacker.
Murray, with no further motivation to attack, instead decided to finally take the alternative that he never imagined that he'd have to take.
Run.
Murray turned around and started to run down the platform, equipment passing him by on all sides. His running wasn't exactly that; the pain that had been building up all this time, particularly with that last hit where the man gripped his ankle rather tightly, had reduced his running down to a steadier pace, held back by a noticeable limp.
He looked back and saw that the man still steadily approaching him, obviously not at the same physical disadvantage that Murray was. But, for whatever reason, he was still approaching at a slower pace that was clearly not the fastest that he could go. Almost as if he wanted to taunt Murray, chasing him as slowly as he could just to make the chase more agonizing.
Nevertheless, Murray continued on, limping along as he looked for a place where he could possibly throw his pursuer off his trail.
The first thing that he thought of was the massive conveyor belt, running parallel to the platform. He figured that if he could start it up and jump onto it, he could continue moving along with the aid of the belt itself, which would give him some kind of head start and better widen the distance between them.
When he reached the nearest control panel, he started rapidly flipping switches, pressing buttons, and turning dials. Lights flickered on, sounds started up in an orchestra of hums, whirs, and clicks, and there was a creaking sound as the conveyor belt slowly started up. Murray first jumped onto one of the control panels, stepping on a keyboard and breaking it, and then leapt up onto the conveyor belt.
However, landing on an already-moving belt – combined with his limp – caused Murray to stumble, lose his footing, and fall backwards onto the belt with a thud, staring up at the ceiling as it passed by…
…moving down his vision rather than up.
It took Murray a few moments to realize that he was not moving along in the direction he had intended to, but was actually moving backwards.
He quickly scrambled to get back up, standing on the belt and steadying his balance, careful to avoid falling to the left and into the abyss below. Standing up, he saw the metal platform and all of the equipment rolling past him, moving further away.
He spun around…
…only for a massive hand to suddenly grab his face and cover his field of vision.
As two of his hands instantly grabbed the massive hand in an attempt to pull it off, he felt himself being lifted up and flung up over the attacker and slammed down onto the other side of him, landing on the conveyor belt with a thud, followed by a rattle that trailed off as the entire apparatus shook from the force of the impact.
The hand pulled away, and Murray looked up at the man towering over him like a specter. As he started to crawl to his feet, the man grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him forward, sending him sliding along the conveyor belt, moving with the speed of the belt, and sliding further ahead.
It was then, as Murray finally got a good look in the direction that he was involuntarily moving in, that he realized what was ahead of him.
A massive metal box, similar to the one they had passed by earlier, at the end of the belt that did move towards the end of the factory. This one was like a reflection of the first; sitting at the end of the conveyor belt that moved in the opposite direction. And right at the end of the conveyor belt was a large hole in the side of he box, slightly leaning out over the end of the belt, like a gaping mouth waiting to swallow up whatever rolled into it.
The other occupant of the belt, seeing his opportunity to finally eliminate this meddlesome annoyance, kneeled down as the next control panel rolled by. He casually flicked every single switch, eventually pulling the one lever that activated the melting process.
As he flicked the lever, a sinister orange glow emitted from the mouth, with a massive, fearsome flame clearly visible inside.
Murray's eyes widened. A slight upward curve at one corner of the man's mouth was barely visible.
As Murray got to his hands and knees, he could hear the man's footsteps approaching him rapidly. He sprang up and spun around with a vicious right hook, swinging blindly and clipping the man's chin.
Barely fazed, the man rubbed his chin with one hand.
The slight and casual movement distracted Murray as the man's other hand swung around with an equally vicious punch, connecting with Murray's jaw and sending him spinning around, falling right back onto the conveyor belt once more, this time landing on his back.
In an instant, the man was directly over Murray, kneeling down on top of him, and both of his hands firmly gripped Murray's neck and kept his head pressed against the conveyor belt as it rolled along. Murray once again tried to slip his hands in between his own neck and the man's hand, barely managing to pry one of the fingers and free up some space. He gasped and sucked in a quick breath of air, then leaned his head back as far as he could to see how much closer the furnace was.
There was probably no more than twenty feet between his head and the burning furnace.
Now genuinely afraid, Murray began thrashing wildly, desperately trying to free himself from the man's iron grip. His eyes darted all over, searching frantically for something that could get him out of this tight spot. He could hear the roaring of the fire, feel the heat slowly approaching…
He then remembered one of his older moves. The only move that he could possibly use to get out of this certain death situation.
Removing his hands from the man's larger hand, he raised them up above his own head slowly, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, and then slowly exhaling.
He could still feel himself moving forward, he could still hear the steady rattling of the conveyor belt, and he could still feel the heat from behind slowly approaching. It must be very close now…
He then swiftly clapped his hands together above his head with all his might, activating the fire-emitting pads built into his gloves and instantly setting the gloves on fire. The material they were made out of had a special, fire-retardant covering that could burn endlessly without causing damage.
The man glanced at the hippo's now-burning hands, and a brief look that resembled shock and disbelief appeared on his face. This was certainly something he had not seen before, nor had he expected.
Murray then quickly brought both hands up, swiping them in together at the man's face.
Impulsively, the man jerked his head back to avoid the flaming hands swiping at him. They both missed his face by inches, with the wave of heat briefly warming his flesh and making his fur stand on end, and then submit to a rush of cold air as they moved farther away from his face.
He looked ahead at the furnace, now barely four feet away. It was just a little bit longer…
He then looked down to see both flaming hands now moving towards his own hand, still gripping the hippo's neck.
Using one of his own techniques, he closed his eyes and firmly, mentally shut out all other feeling in his body, with the exception of hearing the rickety conveyor belt move steadily along, surely delivering his prey to a fiery demise…
…Fiery…
It was then that he felt the stinging, burning pain clasp around his entire hand, enveloping it in unimaginable heat and pain.
He tried his hardest to ignore the pain, to control it, and use it as motivation to hold the hippo there for just a little bit longer…
He opened his eyes to see how much closer the furnace was.
Two feet.
He then allowed his eyes to drop down at his own hand, where he saw the flaming gloves wrapped around it like a towel, the hippo's angry glare looking right up into his own eyes.
Seeing the fire on his own hand finally broke his will, and he released the hippo's neck instantly, yanking his hand out of the hippo's fiery grip and leapt backwards.
Murray instantly took advantage of this and leapt to his feet just as he was about to reach the open mouth of the furnace. He turned to the right and leapt off the conveyor belt, landing first on his feet, then dropping and rolling over on the metal floor to better absorb the impact. He rolled for a bit before stopping and quickly glancing back up at the conveyor belt.
He was gone.
Scrambling to his feet, he looked around frantically, searching for a glimpse of the man darting behind a console, or a shadow racing across the platform, or something. But the flashing lights, the blaring alarm, and the moving apparatuses prevented any decent discernment from his target and the numerous distractions.
Then, suddenly, he felt a blinding blow smash into the back of his head, sending him tumbling forward and slamming to the metal floor face-first, harsh stabs of pain searing through both the back of his head and the front. Stars danced in his vision, which was fading in and out repeatedly.
Then he felt two strong grips grab his shoulders, lift him up, and hurl him to the side. All that he saw before he impacted was the control panel that he was flying straight towards. He landed with a rapid crunching of metal, an electric sizzling, and shards and sparks flying. He could feel the rectangular console bend inward towards where he lay directly in the middle.
His mind barely there, his eyes fluttered open enough for him to glance at the small area of platform between the railing and the back of the console, where a very familiar handgun lay.
Just as his mind registered this sudden revelation, he could hear a strange, loud, heavy metal clanging, along with the hard, menacing footsteps slowly approaching.
With a weak effort, he slowly lifted one hand up along the smashed console, attempting to reach for the pistol below him.
Then he was jerked away.
His attacker once again behind him, he expected the two hard hands to grab his shoulders again. This time, however, the grip that took him was much stronger and colder. He felt the presence suddenly wrap around his neck. He looked down just enough to see what it was.
A chain.
Behind him, the man took the sharp hooked end and wrapped it around the chain just above the hippo's head several times, then stuck the tip of the hook right through one of the links, securing it. He then spun the hippo around and struck him swiftly in the face once more.
As Murray stumbled backwards to the ground, he could hear the sound of the heavy chain rattling around his neck. He could see it tightening as he dragged it out further away from its nearby source: A massive winch, with dozens and dozens of yards of this chain wrapped around it, and a single lever at the side. Extending from the winch was the crane, bent at a perfect 90-degree angle, the chain strung up through it in a pulley system.
He then watched in dazed, mute horror as the man approached the lever, gave the hippo a blank stare which somewhat conveyed a message of triumph, and then flipped the lever down.
The pulley started, and the winch began slowly rotating, retracting the chain along it and up the crane arm. It started tightening, the slack rapidly decreasing as it began lifting up.
Murray mustered all of his strength and grabbed at the chain around his neck with both hands, furiously trying to pry it off. The segment of chain between him and the end of the crane arm was rising, its slanted angle becoming much more vertical…
He continued prying away, his fingers seemingly too large to get between the chain and his neck.
Then he could feel his body being dragged. The chain was starting to pull his large body across the metal floor, towards the winch and crane. He tried to resist, but the mechanism was too strong, even for him. His head was facing away from the crane and winch, but the strength of the pulling chain slowly spun his body around on the floor like a dial in a rather ridiculous manner. Once his head was facing the arm's direction, he started sliding along the floor, dragging backwards towards certain death.
As he continued his valiant struggle, he could hear, among the cranking and rattling of the winch, the thick footsteps once more. He could see the massive man walking back towards him, turning and looking directly at him as he slid past. The look in those eyes was impossible to read. The slight hint of triumph from earlier had vanished. Now it was just a blank stare.
Then the floor started pulling away. He could feel his body slanting upward as he was slowly pulled into the air. Suddenly, the cold, hard presence of the metal floor seemed much more comforting and a better alternative to what was happening now.
He planted both feet firmly on the floor, quickly standing straight up and creating some brief slack in the chain as he righted himself to gain a better grip on the chain. However, he soon felt the chain tightening again, and his feet slowly skid backwards as he tried to stay in place. Soon, he was finally lifted up off the floor completely. He started kicking wildly as he was lifted up into the air, the chain tightening around his neck. He could feel the flow of air suddenly stop, and he panicked. Both hands were furiously scraping at the chain, attempting to pull it open before it was too late…
…then he was at the top of the crane. The tip of the arm was just above his head, and he himself would've been pulled right into it and had his skull crushed had it not been for the knot that the man had tied in the chain just above him. The hook and the looped sections of the chain were caught up in the shaft at the tip of the crane arm, jamming it and halting its retraction. The brief jerk shook Murray for a moment, jolting him up, slamming the top of his head into the arm of the crane, then falling and hanging back down again. The winch tried to progress, but the knot was too large to fit through the shaft. After a moment, the cranking started to become ragged, jerking violently repeatedly as it tried to pull the obstruction through. Eventually, there was a loud, shattering crash as the mechanism failed. The winch broke, shifted briefly out of place, and the chain ceased its movement. The crane arm seemed to list ever so slightly to the side, but showed no immediate signs of falling out of place.
And, hanging at the top of the crane, the hippo remained absolutely motionless.
Down below, the man knew that his job here was done. Finally, the elusive and seemingly indestructible hippo was dead.
With the slightest shakes of his head, he turned around, facing down the long metal platform and into the darkness. He knew that, somewhere down at the other end of the factory, there was an elevator that served as the one and only other way out of this factory.
That was surely where he'd find the turtle.
He began advancing through the factory.
To be continued…