The Factory: Part II
The Krak-Karov Volcano, Russia; Tuesday, June 14, 10:39 P.M…
Bentley jumped up the stairs and onto the slightly raised platform, the main platform stretching away into the darkness behind and below him. The signal was now much stronger, the pangs growing louder and happening more frequently; the sure sign of close proximity to the target.
They must have him restrained somewhere. His signal hasn't moved at all. Bentley thought.
Far behind him, the other signal representing Murray grew more distant and quieter. He hoped that, if anything, that meant that Murray was also moving away just as he was moving away from him.
By now, Bentley had long since tuned out the constant alarm. It had been going on for at least 7 or 8 minutes now, and had slipped in with the rest of the background noise. He had moved past all of the apparatuses and machines that had been accidentally turned on in all of the confusion, so the alarm was really the only noise left, besides his own breathing, the beating of his heart, and the steady rattling of his wheelchair across the grated floor.
Then, after continuing along the elevated platform a little further, he could finally see the darkness ahead start to materialize into something else. Something that was also dark, but clearly with its own mass, very large, stretching out above, below, and on either side of him.
The back wall. He had reached the end of the factory at last.
And there, set right in the middle of the wall, was a door. Two shiny, sleek, silvery metal doors that resembled an elevator.
There were two buttons next to the doors. One was a white button that was below a speaker, and the other was a yellow button with an arrow facing up on it. He pressed the arrow button, and the elevator doors slowly creaked open.
Bentley looked inside cautiously, inspecting the interior of the car. There was nothing immediately obvious. It was the typical four-walled set-up, dark gray on all sides, and without a single button or anything inside. Even the most common of hotel or mall elevators had more on the interior than this one. It seemed almost too much like a trap…
Just then, as Bentley glanced down at the floor, and one of the red flashes hit his direction, he suddenly saw a massive shadow stretched out much too far across the floor of the elevator to be his own.
He turned around sharply and saw the man, standing at the top of the staircase that he had scaled earlier. His fists were clenched, and his eyes were fixated right on him.
Panicking, Bentley furiously wheeled into the elevator. He turned around and backed up against the wall. The man slowly approached.
He glanced around for any kind of button that would speed up the elevator or close the doors. There was none.
The man continued lumbering towards him, drawing closer and closer. Then the doors finally started to close. The man, seeing this, sped up and walked at a much brisker pace. The doors were halfway closed…almost there…
The man was a few feet away. He stretched one hand out, extending the fingers, towards the crevice between the doors…
…they closed. A slight thump sounded, the car jolted, and then slowly began its ascent with that typical feeling of weightlessness. However, unlike other elevators, this one didn't even have a hum. He couldn't hear the creaking of the metal cords as it rode up along them. It was purely silent.
Bentley, still pressed up against the far wall, exhaled a sigh of relief. He hung his head…
…and saw the bottom of the elevator shaft falling away below him. He could see the cords waving beneath the car as it rose. He glanced up and looked around, realizing that he could see the shaft walls passing by on all sides. It was a glass elevator.
He looked up at the ceiling where, beyond the cords stretching higher past his field of vision, there was a small opening at the top. It was blue, but a dark blue, just bright enough to be distinguished from the rest of the shaft.
He glanced down again…
…just in time to see the man, at the very bottom of the shaft, finally pry open the double doors and jump inside.
Bentley's eyes widened, more in shock than fear.
No…It can't be!
The man, standing on the floor of the shaft, slowly lifted his head up and locked his eyes onto the departing car. He spotted the terrified turtle, looking down at him.
He then grabbed onto one of the two metal cords and held on tight as it started pulling him up at the same speed as the elevator. However, not only did he let the cord pull him along, but he started climbing it with his own strength, climbing up along a cord that was already moving. This doubled his speed and resulted in the gap between him and the car rapidly closing.
Bentley panicked, not knowing what to do now that he was effectively trapped.
What can I do, what can I DO? He thought frantically as his eyes rapidly scanned the elevator once more. There are no buttons or anything to stop it, reverse it, or speed it up. I'm in a shaft, so even if I could blow through the glass, I'd be just as trapped…
He glanced back up at the blue patch above him that was steadily approaching.
The top of the shaft. I have to wait. Once it stops, I'll get out of here. Must…wait…
The patch approached, becoming even clearer as to what it was. He could faintly see the stars in the night sky, with a few occasional clouds.
Just a little longer…a little longer…
He glanced down again to see what progress the attacker had made.
He was perhaps 15 to 20 feet below the elevator, and gaining rapidly.
Bentley nearly jumped out of his chair. He glanced back up again, and saw that, at long last, the elevator was at the top. He expected it to stop then and there.
It didn't. It rose right up out of the shaft and into the open night air. Bentley looked down as the shaft within the building fell away, but the attacker continued climbing. Despite his anxiety, he couldn't help but glance out at the surroundings now that he was clearly much higher than most of the other things in this valley.
What he saw out in the valley below was astonishing, and very briefly made his mind forget about the approaching attacker.
Most of the buildings in the facility were still intact. The entire long line of metal buildings stretching out from the factory that he had just departed from was still crystal clear, looming out directly below him like a river of metal. But, independent from the line of buildings, out in the area of the valley that was more dominated by dead or dying grass, sat the single lone building, the hangar where they had heard the group's commander speaking to the men.
Or, what was left of it.
There was a massive burning, smoking pile of debris in its place. All that was left of the building itself were the lowest sections of the four walls, as fragile as a flower in the breeze on the ruined foundations. The majority of the building was gone, completely collapsed. Within the remains of the four walls were heaps of debris, some piles large, some small, and almost everything on fire. The pillar of black smoke towered from the wreckage, mostly extending straight up like a beam of light into the night sky. A few fragments of the tower occasionally broke away, floating off in any direction. It was then that Bentley realized that the few "clouds" he had seen were certainly not normal clouds.
I guess I know what set off those alarms earlier.
But, beyond this rather startling revelation, something else in the valley that was not there before was also terrifying. This second object caught even the attention of the man who was hanging underneath the elevator by the metal cords.
Bentley couldn't believe it. It would've been even more of a shock had it not been for him and Murray overhearing the man's speech inside the hangar earlier. Even then, it was still a sight that was almost incomprehensible.
Clockwerk.
The massive metal beast, just as Bentley remembered him. It was soaring around through the night sky, wings flapping, banking sharply, rising and falling, circling the base in an unsystematic pattern. Every now and then, it sounded off one of its terrifying guttural roars. Those horrible yellow eyes seemed to be the epicenter of the great beast. At one point, they seemed to glare directly at him.
The sight suddenly sent flashes of memories through his mind: Memories of the first time they blasted through the Volcano base; memories of Sly's near-death experience at the hands of this monster; memories of being clutched in Clockwerk's talons as the blimp exploded around them above the North Atlantic; memories of being nearly crushed to death in the metal jaws. Horrible visions assaulting his mind at once made the revelation even more unbearable.
But, as Bentley continued staring at it, he noticed that it apparently wasn't inflicting any immediate harm to anything else except the already-destroyed hangar. It was just circling the area aimlessly. At times, it seemed to jerk and bank hard, dipping suddenly and rising slowly, almost as if something was wrong…
Then it was gone. The elevator had reached the top of the shaft, where a metal chamber resting right on the edge of the Volcano crater was directly above it. Metal once again surrounded him on all sides.
The sudden transition that removed Clockwerk from view brought Bentley's mind back to the present, and right on cue, there was a loud thump from below. He looked down to see the man, his mind also back to the task at hand, finally at the top of the cord and directly below the elevator car. He had slammed his fist into the glass bottom. He pulled it back and slammed again with all his furious might. The car rumbled and shook, but the glass initially showed no sign of breaking…
…then there was a crack.
Bentley gulped and jumped away from it as a crack emerged. Seeing the progress, the man leaned back with another punch, slamming it even harder and making the crack even larger.
At that moment, the elevator jolted to a stop. Bentley turned and waited for the double doors to open.
There was the sound of doors sliding open, but the doors stayed shut. After a brief moment of confusion and panic, Bentley spun around to see that the opposite wall was also a pair of double doors, which slid open to reveal a fairly large and rather elegant chamber, with the wall at the very end noticeably being a massive sheet of glass that overlooked the Volcano crater, the orange glow casting an eerie light that reflected off the metal walls.
Bentley wheeled out of the elevator and into the chamber. He looked back at the floor of the elevator once he stepped out and saw the man ready another punch. He glanced at the panel beside the elevator door on the sleek metal wall, where there was a similar set-up of a speaker, a white button, and a yellow button. This time, however, the yellow button had an arrow pointing down. Bentley quickly pressed it.
He wheeled back as the elevator doors slowly closed. The last he saw of the assassin was those angry eyes glaring up at him through the glass floor, where the cracks were significantly larger, wider, and more spread out.
Bentley listened intently as he could barely hear the elevator start to retreat.
He turned around, remembering what had led him here in the first place. He glanced down at the screen on his right armrest. Now, for the first time, the dot was no longer on the very edge of the readout. It was now almost right next to the dot in the middle of the screen, where he was. The pangs were now almost completely in rapid succession, and very loud.
He looked up and did another, more thorough once-over of the room.
There was absolutely no one there.
"Sly?" He called.
Nothing.
"SLY?"
He wheeled further into the room and looked around. He now saw surefire evidence of some sort of scuffle in this room. One of the two potted plants in the room – the one on the right of the elevator doors that he had just come through – was toppled. The massive pot was in several large pieces, the soil spilled onto the metal floor, several larger clumps of dirt scattered around, and the sapling lying on the floor. Nearby, there was a visible rectangular patch on the wall with a single hook where a painting had been hung, as evident by the paleness of this patch and the other paintings on the walls around the spot. On the floor below it, there were the two halves of the painting, one of the halves with a massive hole in the middle of it.
As Bentley ventured further into the room, the dot representing Sly was now directly aligned with the dot representing him.
As Bentley looked down at the armrest screen once more, something else on the neat red carpet caught his attention from the periphery. He focused on it, and, upon realizing what it was, bent down to pick it up with pure shock in his eyes.
Sly's earpiece communicator. On the floor.
Bentley, still tightly clutching the piece, glanced back at the destruction throughout the room.
"Oh, no. No…"
…
He glared angrily at the terrified turtle before the doors closed and the elevator slowly began its descent back down the shaft.
Now with new determination, he began smashing the glass even harder and with quicker punches, attacking it in rapid succession. The elevator continued falling…
Then it was out of the metal shaft, back into the night sky. As he continued his assault on the bottom of the elevator, he couldn't help but glance back at the astonishing spectacle that was flying around aimlessly in the air above the facility.
So that's what their secret business had been.
But as long as it didn't involve him, he didn't care.
Then, finally, one of his punches did it. The cracks took their toll, and a fragment of the glass bottom was knocked out of place. The hole that it left behind was barely large enough for his fist to fit through. He started rapidly hitting the areas around the hole, as the elevator was now at the halfway point of the open area of the shaft. The hole was getting larger…
He now had a hole that was big enough for his head and one of his arms. But his shoulders prevented him from getting through. He had to keep working.
The elevator was back inside the closed shaft in the factory. He was running out of time.
He continued smashing away at the glass, shards either flying into the elevator car or falling past him into the shaft. Now the hole was finally wide enough for his shoulders. Without hesitation, he lifted himself up through the hole, his shoulders barely scraping the ragged edges. He managed to pull himself up without a single scratch.
Once inside the elevator, he looked up at the ceiling and saw the hatch set directly in the middle of the ceiling. Moving away from the hole in the floor, he stood up as high and straight as he could, standing on the tips of his toes and stretching up towards the hatch. He managed to grab the latch and pull it sideways, unlocking it. He then placed both palms against the hatch and jumped up, lifting the hatch up so that it flipped over and opened all the way. When he landed again, he could hear the floor crack as the pressure from his jump increased the strain on the severely damaged floor. He stepped back for a moment, then briefly ran forward and leapt up again, grabbing onto the edges of the open hatch with both hands, using all of his strength to pull himself up and out of the elevator.
He now stood directly on top of the car, which was drawing closer to the bottom of the shaft. Wasting no time whatsoever, he jumped up and grabbed onto one of the metal cords dangling above him. It was moving down, but he climbed against it and moved much faster than the cord, gaining some distance before the elevator finally reached the bottom. With the cords no longer moving, he was able to scale the cords much faster.
This time, there was nowhere left for the turtle to run. Nowhere left to hide. He was cornered. After this, there would be only two targets left.
That is, if either of them weren't already dead.
…
Bentley didn't know what to do. One of the very few times in his life that this was the case. Sly wasn't here. Nobody was here. There was nothing here. And now he was alone, separated from Murray. Now Clockwerk – either the real one or a replica – was back out once again. Now, worst of all, he had no idea whether or not Sly – or Penelope, too, for that matter – was still alive. Even Murray could be dead right now. What if he was the last one? For good, this time?
And how much longer would that last?
He was cornered here. The only way out was that elevator, which he knew that man was sure to break into somehow. There was no way he could go back down that way without running into him again.
He had to think of something.
His mind racing, he looked around the chamber in hopes of finding a decent hiding place. There was that desk in the middle of the room, but that seemed far too obvious. After glancing around a little more, his eyes fell to the single intact potted plant that stood just to the left of the elevator doors.
He glanced at the plant, then back at the desk. An idea was forming.
He reached for a side compartment built into his left armrest, pulled open the hatch, reached in, and pulled out another grapple-cam. He glanced at the desk opposite the room, and the idea solidified. This would be perfect.
That is, if he could finish setting up in time.
Racing over to the desk, he placed the grapple-cam behind it, right behind one of the wooden legs. To further hide it, he moved the black leather chair over and placed it right next to the grapple-cam. He then reached into another side compartment of his wheelchair and withdrew three sleeping gas bombs, placing them all underneath the chair beside the grapple-cam. He quickly retreated back to the opposite wall, hiding behind the still-standing potted plant, pressing back up against the cold metal wall as much as he could. He checked his dart gun to make sure that it was already loaded. Much to his displeasure, there was only one dart left.
He had to make this shot count.
The dart gun at the ready, he then began one of the longest, most painful, and most terrifying waits of his entire life. He tried to steady his raspy breathing so that he could remain absolutely quiet. At the same time, he ever so slowly reached his left hand towards the microphone for the grapple-cam's built-in speaker. He raised it to his mouth, all while holding onto the dart gun with his right hand.
After what felt like an eternity, he could suddenly hear a metallic jolt beside him that almost made him lose his grip on both the microphone and the dart gun. After a pause, there was the sound of strained metal slowly sliding aside, being moved over against its will. He dared not look to the side, as the potted plant obscured his vision enough so that his hiding place was barely visible to whoever exited the elevator. That was just what he wanted.
He could hear the metal creak and groan even more, before he sensed a large, powerful entity enter the room. He knew who it was. He dared not move, breathe, or even think. The hand clutching the microphone was starting to tremble. If he attempted to speak into it now, the man would surely hear him right from where he was instead of where he would be pretending to be. He had to wait even longer.
Then, with an almost graceful silence, the man strode further into the chamber, emerging from behind the potted plant and into Bentley's sight. He froze.
The massive head slowly turned to the right, glancing at the destruction in that half of the chamber just as Bentley had.
Bentley knew that, in a matter of moments, he would surely turn to the left as well.
With trembling lips, he uttered a brief gasp into the microphone, half fake and half real.
The man perked up, turning his head back towards the opposite wall of the room, where the desk and window were. He was staring right at the desk.
Bentley repeated a slight gasp, almost hearing his own voice echoed from across the room.
The man began advancing towards the desk slowly. Bentley, with sweat dripping down his forehead, forming on his palms beneath the gloves, and hands trembling, slowly let the thumb of his left hand drop down the length of the small microphone towards a small red button.
The man was right in front of the desk. He paused, glancing at the familiar piece of oak furniture before slowly turning to the left to walk around it. Bentley froze up again as he came scarily close to seeing Bentley in his periphery. But he didn't.
He strode around the end of the desk and, after a brief pause, rounded the desk and looked down at the floor behind it, right next to where the chair was.
After a slight hesitation, Bentley raised the dart gun with one hand, while the other hand prepared to press the red button.
At that moment, the man saw the flicker of movement out of the corner of his right eye and turned sharply, locking his eyes onto the turtle across the room.
Bentley fired the final dart, which soared across the room and struck the man in the chest. He looked down at the dart lodged in his Kevlar vest blankly, then back at the turtle with the slightest bit of amusement in his rock-hard face.
Bentley, detecting the amusement, couldn't help but muster a slight grin himself, well aware of what was about to happen. He pressed the red button.
Now it was a three-second wait.
The man, not noticing the turtle press the red button, reached for the dart casually and removed it just as he had before, dropping it to the floor with a clatter, where it landed right next to the grapple-cam.
He started to lift one foot to begin his advance towards the cornered turtle.
Instead, his entire body was lifted up as a massive explosion suddenly emitted from right beside him and below him. The blast sent the black chair flying across the room, flipped the heavy desk over and simultaneously blew it roughly in half, one half flying in the direction of the fallen plant and ruined painting and the other to the opposite side of the room. Splinters of wood and pieces of the desk's accessories flew in all directions except for towards the window, which was instead behind the bomb and out of the radius of the blast. At most, the entire window shook in its frame and multiple cracks appeared, but it still held strong. At the same time, the explosion set off all three of the sleeping gas bombs, instantly creating a large, thick green haze over the entire area around the desk, and enveloping the man. He inhaled plenty of the gas before he flew forward several feet, slamming to the red carpeted floor with a loud thud. The gas still hung in the air around him, and he struggled as hard as he could to fight the gas and not cough. While still lying on the floor, he covered his mouth with a fist and waved at the gas around his face with the other, frantically trying to keep the fumes away from his system.
However, the gas had taken its toll.
The man struggled as he slowly attempted to lift himself up off the floor, crawling to his hands and knees, and slowly wobbling to his feet. His arms hung limply at his sides, and he glared across the room at the clever turtle. Through the lethargy clearly building in his face and the rest of his body, there was an intense glare of hatred and fury that wiped away the amusement from earlier. Pieces of debris fluttered around him, and the smoke from the explosion itself was also hovering around him, damaging his lungs and obscuring his vision even further.
He locked his eyes on the turtle and slowly began to move forward, feeling as if he was dragging a weight on him that was two or three times his own. But he was still moving.
Bentley, thoroughly horrified, dropped both the microphone and the dart gun and wheeled around the plant towards the elevator doors, pressing the button frantically as if it would bring the car up much faster.
The man took about two more steps, moving towards the middle of the room.
Then, at last, it was too much for him. His eyes seemed to roll over in his head as he leaned backwards and fell to the floor with yet another loud thud. He glanced up at the metal ceiling and the extravagant chandelier above him before his vision turned to darkness.
Bentley watched as the eyelids fluttered closed, and the few movements in his large fingers ceased. All that was left was the rising and falling of his chest. He was certainly not dead, but he was certainly unconscious at last.
Bentley's hand slowly dropped away from the button as he leaned back against the closed doors. He stared at the fallen Goliath, after what seemed like an unstoppable rampage, finally defeated.
Then, suddenly, he could feel the metal doors opening behind him.
Jumping forward and spinning around, he had an instant resurgence of fear and terror as the doors opened. What was it this time?
The doors opened to reveal the elevator car, its floor smashed, a massive hole in the middle, with cracks spreading out in a spider-web formation covering half of the floor, and glass shards scattered all over. The hatch in the ceiling was also open. But what caught his attention the most was the occupant of the elevator.
"Murray!" Bentley cried in shock and happiness together.
Murray was visibly shaken and weak, leaning to one side, his left hand clutching his right elbow, and visible dark red marks on his neck. In his right hand was the .44 Magnum he had stolen from the unconscious guard earlier and lost in the struggle with the man. He leaned against the wall of the elevator, maintaining a safe distance from the hole in the floor. He winced as he straightened up and looked at Bentley.
"Hey…old pal."
"Murray, what happened? Did you run into him again?"
"Yeah." Murray stumbled out of the elevator, edging around the hole and onto the safe, hard floor of the chamber. "He almost got me, too. I had to fake like I was done for, and he left me alone. I got the gun back." He held up the pistol.
"Perfect timing." Bentley moved aside and gestured at the sleeping giant.
Murray's eyes widened, after another wince of pain.
"Wow. What happened?"
"Enough sleeping gas bombs, the self-destruction of a grapple-cam, and yet another sleeping dart."
"That simple, huh?"
"You have no idea."
"Wait a minute…what about Sly?"
The look of triumph and relief in Bentley's eyes vanished as he remembered.
"Oh…"
He slowly reached into a pocket and pulled out their missing friend's communicator.
Murray looked closely at it, and his jaw dropped.
"You mean…?"
"He's not here. Even before I got here, several things were already destroyed." As he said this, he gestured back at the destroyed painting halves and the fallen plant. "There was clearly some kind of struggle in here, and perhaps Sly's communicator was knocked out by a powerful hit or something."
"So…where is he now?" Murray paused. "Unless he's…"
"No. Sly's stronger and tougher than that. I'm sure that he's still alive. But we're running out of time here, Murray. I assume that you saw it as you came up in the elevator?"
"Yeah. It was just like that guy said!"
"We have to do something, and we can't do anything in here. We've got to get back to the ground level."
"Alright. Let's go."
They turned back to the elevator when, suddenly, something flew right between them and into the elevator, slamming into the glass wall and wedging itself perfectly between the other pair of double doors inside the elevator. It was a large fragment of finely-polished oak.
They both spun around to see the man, once again standing tall, his right hand dropping back down to his side. He shook off the weariness and his eyes once again had a look of undying hatred in them as he stared down his two targets. With a slight and noticeable limp, he slowly began advancing towards them once more.
"NO!" Bentley screamed in terror and frustration. "NO! NOT AGAIN!"
Murray reacted instantly, raising his Magnum and, without hesitation, pulling the trigger.
It sounded with a massive report that rang loudly throughout the metal chamber, echoing off the walls and sending vibrations up and down the three spines in the room. Bentley's hands whipped up to his ears as he winced in pain from the loudness of the sound right next to him.
The first bullet struck the man in the middle of his stomach. Thanks to the Kevlar, it did not penetrate through completely. But the sheer force of the bullet's impact sent him stumbling backwards. Murray fired a second shot, which hit him a little higher in the stomach. He jumped backwards again. The third shot hit him even higher, in the left breast, just a few inches away from where the Kevlar ended. He continued moving backwards, now standing about where the desk stood about a minute ago. Murray fired the fourth shot, which grazed his left shoulder just centimeters beside where one of the shoulder straps for the Kevlar vest sat, thus hitting home and peeling away a significant amount of flesh, at the same time sending a shower of blood flying and spattering the window behind him. Since the bullet was not completely stopped by the contact with the man's shoulder, flew past and hit the large window, creating a small hole that spread the cracks even further and weakened the window even more. Having actually hit an unprotected area of his body, the fourth impact felt even harder and delivered much more pain than the first three shots, and he stumbled backwards even more, barely able to stay standing. He was now barely a foot away from the cracked, fragile, and blood-stained window.
But he remained standing nonetheless.
Murray, with clear frustration visible in his face, gripped the pistol's handle even tighter and started to approach the man, raising the barrel even higher and aiming at his face.
As the hippo approached, the man finally lost control and stumbled backwards far enough, hitting the massive window. As a result of the damage it had already received, combined with his large and powerful impact into it, the large window finally gave way.
Murray stopped dead in his tracks, pistol still raised, as the towering man smashed right through the window. It was as if the entire window disintegrated. Rather than punching a hole about as large as his own body, the force destroyed the entire window, almost like it became a sheet of water that instantly poured down out of its place. Shards of glass of all sizes fell from the frame and either clattered to the floor, shattering into even smaller pieces, or fell out the other side and down into the crater below. It almost sounded like its own kind of musical instrument, with the clattering and smashing all coming together in a strangely soft sound, not like a loud, sudden smashing, or an extremely soft crash. It almost resembled small bells ringing in a manner that was almost graceful and pleasant. There were multiple flashes of orange light from where the lava reflected up onto falling pieces, reflecting their orange glow into the chamber for a split second before the angle changed and the piece fell further. Some pieces scattered as far as two feet from the window frame.
Among the shower of glass raining down on and around him, the mountainous man stumbled right through it and slipped off the safety of the metal floor. He instantly fell straight down and out of sight. Just like always, there was not a single sound, even as he fell to his certain death in the lava below.
Murray and Bentley stared in disbelief. The last few pieces of glass settled on the floor, the tinkling slowly dying down. The flashes of light grew less and less plentiful and frequent, until it was once again as if the whole window was there again. The only slight difference now was the slow advancement of warm air from outside into the colder chamber, with an ever so light breeze penetrating the open room, rustling the leaves on the nearby plants.
But, other than that, it was pure silence.
Murray slowly lowered the revolver, exhaling a long sigh of relief. Bentley, still against the back wall, slowly wheeled up alongside his friend, also exhaling, but in an almost nervous manner, as if he wasn't sure that what had just happened had really happened.
"Is…" He was barely able to make a complete sentence. "Is…is it…over?"
Murray looked down at Bentley, surprised that it was him answering the question for Bentley for a change.
"I think so."
He looked down at the revolver, then pressed a small button forward and flicked the revolver aside, flipping the chamber open.
"And I still have two bullets left in this thing."
He glanced back at Bentley with the slightest of grins. A chuckle escaped.
Despite the intense situation that they had just barely escaped, Bentley found the grin and chuckle strangely contagious. After a pause, he slowly mustered the same grin – albeit much weaker – and let out a little laugh.
Murray's grin only grew wider, and as he flicked the chamber back into place, he couldn't help but start laughing.
"It's finally over. I thought he'd never give up!"
"I think that guy would've given Sly a real run for his money in terms of persistence!" Bentley added in his own attempt at a joke.
Just as Murray started laughing at this, a hand shot up from below the floor just outside of where the window had been. It shot up into the air, revealing an entire forearm, then slammed down to the metal floor with a smack.
Bentley, hearing the sound and looking in its direction, saw the hand and screamed.
Murray, following his friend's sudden glance in the direction of the window, saw the hand. At that moment, the man's right hand shot up as well, grabbing onto the metal floor the best it could. Then, from directly between the two hands, the man reared his large, ugly head once more. He glared straight at the hippo and the turtle, his eyes like twin furnaces that burned with rage as he started to pull himself up.
"BLARGH! Doesn't this guy ever DIE?"
Murray, now thoroughly fed up with this beast's level of persistence, raised the gun and charged towards him just as his left hand slowly began advancing even further along the floor, trying to pull himself up further.
Murray was at the edge instantly, gun raised. He placed the tip of the barrel right against the man's left hand and didn't even slightly pause before pulling the trigger.
A massive hole instantly appeared in the burly left hand. Bits of flesh, bone, and showers of blood flew in all directions, some even splattering onto Murray's gun and forearm. He winced as a few drops hit him in the face.
The man's horrible eyes widened in fear and pain, and he instantly lost what little ground he gained. He fell back further, his left hand flying across the metal floor and falling back down below the ledge. He was now hanging onto the edge by one hand and one hand only. His fingers strained as hard as they could as they gripped the sleek metal edge, struggling to hold up all of his weight.
With only one shot left in the pistol, Murray stood right at the edge, directly over the man and his single clutching hand. Murray slowly kneeled down, moving even closer to the man. He slowly raised the pistol for its sixth and final shot. He lowered it to aim directly at the man's face. At that moment, the man had been looking down at the Volcano crater perhaps 70 to 80 feet below, the orange lava still broiling and bubbling. Even this high up, its heat could be felt, so intense that it made him sweat. He then slowly looked back up at the ledge, only to see the angry hippo, whom he had supposedly killed earlier, alive and well, and with a look of determination in his glare that rivaled his own. The hippo was perched over him, the powerful pistol clenched firmly in his hand, the tip of its still-smoking barrel now lowered, aiming down at him, pointing directly between his eyes. The hippo slowly closed one eye and stared hard down the long barrel of the revolver, taking steady aim as he slowly began to apply pressure to the trigger. The hammer slowly began to pull back, preparing to slam down on the final bullet and deliver its deadly blow.
It was insurmountable. In a matter of moments, the tables had been turned on him. It was impossible. It was incomprehensible. Never before had he ever experienced a failure like this. In all his years in the business, through all the dozens, even hundreds, of people that he had successfully eliminated, never before had he been outsmarted or outdone like this. He realized only now, at the very end, that it had been due to his emotions. He had been too determined to get personal revenge on these targets for evading him and humiliating him several times for so long. He had taken too long in playing with them rather than disposing of them efficiently. He had vowed to himself to be the perfect termination specialist. For several decades, he had maintained this personal promise. He had a perfect, undefeatable record. He was the best. Not even the best of the best, but simply the best. No failure. No falter. No mistakes.
Now, finally, he was faced with the ultimate failure: Being eliminated by one of his own targets.
He simply would not allow that. Never before had he faced such defeat. And he wanted to ensure that, even at the end of his life, he would not face such defeat. He would keep the vow he had made to himself.
If anyone was going to take his life, it would be himself.
Taking one final, deep, silent breath, he closed his eyes, and his right hand relaxed.
Murray slowly opened his other eye, released the trigger, and let the gun sink to the floor. He watched in pure disbelief and astonishment as the man, this impossible, relentless, unstoppable force of a man, released his remaining grip on the metal edge. Murray could only watch as the huge body fell away from the chamber and plummeted down towards the lava below. He simply couldn't look away from it. He had to watch this time. But the one thing that caught his attention the most, by far, was the man's face. He had closed his eyes, and as he fell further and further away, towards the lava and certain death, his face remained perfectly…
…normal.
It was perfectly blank. Empty. Emotionless. Expressionless. Gone was the look of anger. Gone was the look of satisfaction. Gone was the look of triumph. Gone was the look of eagerness. It wasn't even a somber or solemn look. It was perfectly, truly, undeniably blank.
And so his face remained as he fell, falling farther and farther, blood still leaking from his left hand and other cuts on his body from the glass that had fallen around him earlier. He almost seemed to fall in slow motion.
Then, finally, at long last, he landed.
The initial impact into the lava also seemed to be in slow motion. He almost seemed to create a hole in it, like it was more of a solid than a liquid. A brief crater opened up in the lava around him, with lava splashing up on all sides, some drops hitting the crater wall beside him. Then, as he settled in, it seemed to come flowing back in like water flooding a newly-opened canal. It swept over him and almost completely consumed him. Instantly, the burning, searing heat shot through his body in an instant, and he jerked up. The look of calm on his face vanished now with a look of pure chaos and destruction. His head shot up, and his hands started waving around frantically. Even this high up, Murray could hear a strange sound. It sounded beyond the sound any normal being could make. It was somewhat distant, empty, echoing, almost supernatural.
It took him a moment to realize that it was the man.
For the first – and last – time, he finally heard the man emit a sound. It was a scream. A scream of agony. A scream of defeat. A scream of death. It was unearthly. It sounded like the screech of a hawk, but it also had a strange emptiness that sounded like the moan of a ghost, mixed with an almost metal and mechanical sound. In some ways, it loosely resembled the screeching and moaning of Clockwerk. Combined with the ferocious and unnatural screech, his movements were erratic, extraordinarily fast, and jerky in their pace. It was unlike regular twitching, and more like mechanical appendages failing in mid-movement, repeatedly stopping and going again, moving backwards, sideways, and in directions that didn't seem physically possible.
And so he continued his wild dying movements, all his energy and strength put into those final thrashes, kicks, swings, and punches at empty air. His head twisted around, rolling in circles, jerking up and down, his mouth stretched wide open as he continued emitting his dying scream. All the while, the lava continued eating away at him, the scalding liquid chewing away at his flesh, instantly removing it and tearing apart his muscles. His veins instantly popped under the heat, the blood leaking freely and dripping in streams into the lava, which devoured it instantly. Soon the severed and ruined veins were also gone. Steam rose off of every single spot on his body, forming a tower of steam that lifted up and away from his thrashing form, only growing thicker and higher as the lava's deadly arm reached further into his frame. Soon the muscles gave way too, and the bones were exposed, their white complexion dirtied by the recently peeled-away dark red muscles. Although the bones outlasted the flesh and muscles by a few more seconds, these too were soon engulfed completely. In a matter of seconds, the man's large and seemingly indestructible body was almost completely gone, devoured by the lava that finally humbled him and proved even deadlier than he was.
Even as his life slowly faded away forever, he still willed his head to lift up just enough to look straight into the eyes of the hippo who had defeated him. He was still perched on the very edge where the window had been, looking down at him with a look definitely filled with shock, but certainly nothing along the lines of sympathy or worry. It was this hippo who had defeated him. Who now looked down on him as he died. Who now proved superior to him. Who now, unknowingly, had defeated the greatest reclamation specialist in the world, if not in history.
And then there was no more movement. There was no more pain. There was no more hearing. There was no more sight. There was no more smell. The hippo, the lava, the crater walls rising up around him on all sides, the tower of steam rising from his own body, all vanished into eternity.
Murray watched as the screaming and writhing form ceased all movements and all sounds, disappearing into a cloud of steam as the lava completely enveloped it. And then it was gone. As if it had never known life, as if it had never existed.
He was tense for a few long moments, still in that crouched position right on the precipice of the same fate as his opponent, gun still clenched in his hand.
Then, losing all control, he slumped backwards and sat down on the metal floor, legs in front of him and both hands on the floor behind him to hold himself up.
Silence slowly fell over the chamber.
Then it was broken by the steady creaking of Bentley's wheelchair as he slowly rolled over to his dazed friend. Several shards of glass crunched underneath the tires as he approached where the window had been. He was soon directly alongside Murray.
For a few long moments, neither of them could collect the breath to say anything. Then, finally, Bentley chimed in.
"Is…Is it over?"
After a few long moments, Murray replied, "Yeah. It's over."
"For good this time?"
"I watched it. I'm pretty sure no one could've survived that."
Bentley exhaled; a prolonged sigh of relief that had been withheld for days. His gloved hands, though still shaking, managed to settle down a little more, both loosening their grips on the armrests of the wheelchair. Although he was still sweating and the hot air from the volcano crater below was adding to the heat, he felt himself cool off a little bit.
"At last. I thought we'd never see the end of him."
"Me, too." Murray slowly pulled his own legs back up towards him as he started to ease himself up off the floor, scattering a few pieces of glass.
"Although…" He looked down at the pistol he still clenched in his right hand. "…I never did get to use my last shot."
He looked back down at Bentley, who returned the look. After a few moments, Murray emitted another chuckle, this one more of a nervous, cautious chuckle, but a chuckle nonetheless.
A few moments later, Bentley imitated him with another chuckle. Murray chuckled again, casually pressing his right hand against his stomach and slightly bending over.
The silence was now only broken by an occasional laugh from the two friends, as part of their impromptu celebration of a long-awaited victory.
But it was far from over. And a sudden, distant, metallic screech reminded them of that. The screech was followed shortly after by a distant rumbling sound reminiscent of thunder, accompanied with a shaking of the entire chamber that rattled the few pieces of furniture that were still standing, and even those that were ruined.
The chuckles and the grins vanished, and both turned back towards the back wall, in the direction of the sound.
"Oh…" Murray muttered as he remembered.
"We've got to get out of here." Bentley reiterated.
"Right. Let's go!"
Both quickly got up and tore back to the elevator, jumping over the debris and carefully avoiding the hole in the glass floor, and after pressing the button, could only wait as it slowly descended once more back down the shaft. Once it was in the glass section of the shaft, both had their eyes to the skies.
Sure enough, there was the Clockwerk, still flying around in the sky above the facility. However, there was clearly something much different about its flight this time. It seemed to be flying more erratically, jerking and twisting, veering hard to the left and right, then suddenly pulling up and soaring down, as if it was in absolute mental chaos. The screeches and roars continued, and they also noted that several more sections of the facility – though none immediately near the factory that they had to pass through again – were in ruins and on fire.
"Something's not right here." Murray stated. "Just look at it; it's going crazy!"
He turned to Bentley, as the look of realization came over both of them.
"You don't think…?"
"It has to be him." Bentley replied with confidence. "This definitely looks like Sly's work." He added, with a dry smirk.
"But look at those other buildings! They weren't on fire before! What's happening here?"
"I don't know, but I do know one thing: We have to get out of this place and we have to get out of here now!"
Then the elevator was back in the enclosed shaft as it reentered the bulk of the factory. As it drew closer to the bottom, the familiar wail of the sirens returned, distant at first, but slowly and gradually growing louder and louder. Then they were finally at the bottom, and the elevator jolted to a halt. Murray practically pried the doors open himself, and he and Bentley rushed into the open factory once again. The sirens were back with their rhythmic wailing, the red lights flashing repeatedly. In the distance, various pieces of machinery and apparatuses were still moving aimlessly as a result of their accidental activation, adding to the level of paranoia and disorientation. The only sense of relief was in the knowledge that at least their most formidable and unstoppable opponent was finally gone.
"Come on, this way!" Murray yelled. He ran off straight down the metal platform, leaping down the small flight of stairs with Bentley barely keeping up. They ran all the way back through the factory, past the familiar devices both stationary and moving, through the flashes of red, among the blaring sirens, and weaving in and out down the various pathways that they remembered taking before. The furnace, the crane arm, the conveyor belt, the smashed console, and so many other landmarks flew by on both sides in one blur as they desperately raced for the exit. There was another rumbling and shaking, almost causing Murray to trip and noticeably short-circuiting several of the nearby machines.
"What was that?" Bentley cried out frantically.
"I don't know, but we have to get out of here before one of those happens right here!"
After what felt like an endless trek through the jungle of metal and machinery, they finally reached the long staircase leading up to the destroyed main entrance to the factory. Murray bounded over the pigeon's limp body and tore up the stairs with Bentley boosting himself up the steps behind him. Murray reached the platform at the top…
…suddenly confronted by a German shepherd. He was just slightly shorter than Murray, and his uniform was noticeably torn, scorched, and ragged. There was a wound on his chest that he clutched tightly with his left hand, and he had a slight limp as he advanced towards the factory entrance. Clutched in his right hand was a handgun, stained with blood. He was muttering something under his breath and winced, clutching his wound even tighter and even pressing his gun hand against it for a moment.
Just as he passed through the doorway, he looked straight up and at the hippo standing at the top of the staircase.
His eyes widened and he started to lift his handgun.
"Freeze!" He called out loudly. However, the effort of whipping the gun up suddenly, combined with yelling out so loud, instantly brought on another jolt of pain, and he winced and bent over.
Without hesitation, Murray raised his stolen pistol, aimed carefully, and fired the sixth and final shot. The bullet hit the young Colonel right in the chest just as he started to straighten up again, and the impact instantly drove him backwards, nearly lifted off his feet as he sprawled out and collapsed to the ground, the handgun clattering from his hand and his dazed eyes staring up at the ceiling as the life left him.
Murray, not even the least bit stunned, lowered the pistol. He glanced back at the wide-eyed Bentley, who first looked at the German shepherd's motionless body, then back up at Murray.
Murray simply shrugged, then lifted up his Magnum pistol again, glanced at it for all of half a second, then tossed it aside. As he started running again, he bent down as he passed by the Colonel's body and swiped up the pistol. Bentley followed close behind him.
They continued running through the empty metal halls. The only difference now was that these halls were also bathed in the red flashing light and the sirens blared up and down even here, echoing back and forth between the much closer walls, echoing again and again and dragging on much longer than they did in the factory. They passed by numerous doors and empty weapon racks, eventually arriving once again at the catwalk leading over the firing range.
It was at that moment when yet another familiar figure suddenly appeared ahead of them. This time, it was the cat that Murray had personally rendered unconscious. Ivan, now had two steady streams of blood trickling down his face; one from an empty spot in his mouth where one of his front teeth had been, and one from his broken nose. He stumbled along blindly, his AR-15 clutched tightly in both hands, and he babbled on and on in frantic Russian. He noticed the two figures at the opposite end of the catwalk, and stopped dead in his tracks. Out of sheer fright and frantic reflexes, the cat was the first to take blind aim and fire, squeezing off a series of sharp rounds in their direction.
Both Bentley and Murray instinctively ducked as most of the rounds went high over their heads, hitting the metal walls and ceilings in a shower of brief flashes. Both then jumped back behind one of the metal support beams of the catwalk, and Murray took careful aim with his newly-acquired pistol. He fired two shots, both of which missed as the nervous cat jumped back and forth wildly.
Murray jerked his hand back and paused, listening as the cat babbled on in Russian, and then unleashed another hail of bullets. Murray pulled his arms up against his body, cringing as the bullets ricocheted off the walls, ceiling, floor, and even the support beam that he was leaning against, the bullets that could've easily killed him hitting just inches from him. This round lasted a bit longer as more shots were fired, the cat's yelling serving as a background noise as the shots rang out. After a few long seconds of prolonged gunfire, the shots ceased as the magazine ran empty. The cat, still babbling, frantically started to pull out the empty magazine.
Murray swung his gun hand out again, taking only a brief second to aim, and fired three more shots. Two of the shots hit their mark, tearing through the cat's weak chest and stomach, cutting off his rambling and dropping him to the floor just as another magazine was ready to be placed into his weapon. Though the gun stayed on him due to the shoulder strap, the second magazine flew from his hands and clattered to the floor, skidding aside and stopping just at the wall.
Murray leaned out to make sure of what he had done, then gestured to Bentley to follow him as he ran out from behind the support beam and took off down the catwalk. He ran around the cat's body, not even bothering to commandeer a new weapon as he continued racing down the hall.
They continued racing down the hall, the flashing red lights, blaring sirens, and endless doors on either side and lights dotting the ceiling seeming to recycle past them again and again in a never-ending loop. However, as they continued running, they could finally see something different up ahead.
Further down the hall, where there had surely been even more doors and longer hallway, there was an orange glow. It was small and distant, but extremely bright. Also, the faintest wisps of smoke were drifting towards them.
"What's that?" Bentley asked nervously, even though he was sure that he already knew what it was.
"Be careful." Murray warned as he approached.
They drew closer, the orange glow getting larger and the smoke becoming denser and blacker. Bentley eventually gave in and quickly covered his mouth and nose with one gloved hand while swatting wildly at the smoke with the other. Murray was more resilient, but even he had to stop briefly to cough as the smoke became more overwhelming.
The fire was now extremely close, its crackling much louder, the flames flickering higher as they danced wildly in the metal hall. Here, the smoke nearly covered the few red lights that were still flashing nearby, and the roaring of the flames partially drowned out the blaring of the sirens.
As they drew closer, there was more debris on the floor around them. Shards of metal, clumps of earth, burning debris, and holes and scorch marks in the walls, floor, and ceiling. One of the nearest doors was blown off its hinges, and a light bulb lay shattered on the floor amidst its ruined cage, as both had fallen from the ceiling.
By now, the smoke was almost too much to bear. Bentley frantically tried to tell Murray that it was too much for him, but he didn't want to risk opening his mouth and inhaling even the slightest bits of smoke.
However, as Murray drew closer, he caught a brief glimpse of something, just beyond the smoke and the flames, through the ruined hallway and scattered debris.
Sky.
Despite the thick veil of smoke, he could just barely see a few small stars winking in and out as the smoke blew over. He had finally found a way out.
Murray turned back to Bentley, who kept himself at a distance now, and shouted, "Bentley! Come here! It's the way out!"
Bentley, still refusing to speak, now covered his mouth with both hands and shook his head, wincing as he bent over in his chair and coughed hard into his gloves.
Murray, glancing back at the sky just beyond reach, turned and ran back to his friend, kneeling down and taking hold of the entire chair with both hands, lifting it up and straightening himself up. As he turned back towards the wall of smoke and flames, he leaned in close to Bentley.
"Just keep your eyes shut and cover your mouth! We'll be out of here fast!"
Bentley complied, now covering his entire face with both hands and curling up. Murray stared down the obstacle, then charged through. He bounded over flames, dodging pieces of debris, and ducking through the thick smoke, holding his breath the whole time and not daring to take even the slightest gasp. The flames were roaring all around him, the sirens in the distance barely able to compare to the flames' noise. The smoke completely surrounded him, and had it not been for him focusing on the right direction before entering the inferno, he would've surely become disoriented and helplessly lost. He could barely see, with the smoke too dark and the flames too bright. The soles of his feet were getting hotter and hotter as he took step after step on the hot metal floor, and the heat surrounding him was enveloping him…
…then there was a rush of cold air as he burst out of the flames and smoke, emerging into the fresh night air just outside the destroyed hallway. The heat was still fresh directly behind him, but the sudden jump out of the fire had allowed a brief cool breeze to flow over him, at the same time giving him some fresh air to inhale, reenergizing him and giving him enough strength and determination to continue running, putting more distance between himself and the burning, ruined hallway.
When he was finally far away enough, now standing on the short grass, he stopped and eased Bentley's chair back down onto the ground, exhaling a long-awaited sigh of relief.
"It's…(cough)…OK, pal…we're safe." Murray stooped down to continue coughing as Bentley slowly dropped his hands.
"Thanks, pal." Bentley then looked past Murray at the burning wreckage. His glasses were steaming and fogged up from the heat, so he slowly removed them and rubbed both lenses down with his gloves. Once he was done, he put them back on and glanced past Murray at the burning wreckage.
The sight made his jaw drop. When Murray straightened up a little and saw his friend staring blankly at the facility behind him, he slowly turned around and followed his friend's gaze, sharing in his shock at the sight.
Unlike what they had originally believed, it was not just a small portion of the hallway that had been mysteriously blown away. They saw that where they had exited was about three quarters of the overall length of the facility stretching out from the Volcano's base. From there, an entire fourth portion of the facility was completely gone. The tip of the appendage-like layout of the facility was completely destroyed. A massive tower of fire rose from the remains, the smoke billowing up into the night's sky and rivaling the smoke that rose from the Volcano's crater, forming twin towers of smoke rising from the same valley. Debris was scattered all over, many pieces even reaching where they stood and beyond, burning pieces of wreckage tainting the grass and setting small patches of it on fire around them. Even some of the rock field on the other side of the facility was completely blown away, a fresh imprint on the spot where rock, metal, grass, and earth had been eradicated by something tremendous.
Then, behind them, there was another sound that differed from the roaring and crackling of the distant fire. It sounded like collapsing, or many heavy pieces of metal hitting the ground. Both turned around, and found themselves staring at the spot where the massive hangar from earlier had been.
Had been.
Now, where the hangar was, there was a smoldering patch in the middle of the grass. Fire and smoke rose from it, barely contained within the very base of the four walls, forming the ruined foundation of the missing building that served as the only marker of where the building had been. A field of debris surrounded it, pieces of burning material spread out even further throughout the vicinity, creating a scene or true chaos and destruction. The smoke tower that billowed from the remains of the hangar formed a third tower, putting even more smoke in the night sky, blotting out more stars and making the entire valley seem even darker.
Both slowly looked back and forth between the remains of the hangar and the destroyed section of the facility. Then they slowly followed the smoke towers and looked up into the sky.
At first, all they could see was the smoke, billowing up and forming a massive cloud, almost like a halo of death surrounding the valley.
Then, suddenly, a shape burst through the black cloud, leaving a portion of the smoke cloud swirling in a whirlpool behind it as it shot through.
It was not over yet.
To be continued…