Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
"Connie?"
Ilsa turned around and cautiously felt her way downstairs again, holding on to the rickety handrail for dear life. By now water as high as her ankles was coming down the steps with a mighty rush. There was a similar scene in that awful Titanic movie with that untalented what-was-his-name again? For some reason Ilsa really hated that eleven-Oscars-winning piece of cinematic nonsense. Best original song, her arse – she hadn't gotten that bloody melody out of her head for weeks.
"Connie?"
A groan from somewhere in the darkness.
Good. At least her sister-in-law wasn't unconscious. People had drowned in shallower water.
"I fell…", Connie's feeble voice came from near the foot of the stairs.
"Oh, really? Would have never guessed so!", Ilsa felt inclined to say, but she stifled the impulse. This was not, she reminded herself not for the first time this evening, the moment to argue.
"Reach out with your hands, stretch your arms as much as you can and move them from the left to the right, maybe I'll feel you brushing against my legs", she instructed her instead.
"I think I hurt my tailbone", Connie moaned. "I hit something hard when I landed." Her fingers found Ilsa's knee and a moment later her brother's wife was pulling her into an upright position.
"We need to get out of the basement", Ilsa determined. "It looks like it's filling up, and fast. Hold on to the belt loops of my pants, I'll lead you upstairs. But seriously, be careful with your steps, if you slip again, we'll both fall."
Connie didn't take kindly to Ilsa's commanding tone. She was used to be in a leadership role herself, even more so ever since Ilsa had withdrawn from active Foundation business. Despite the dire situation, her sister-in-law taking over control just like that somehow irked her. "At the risk of getting on your nerves – none of this would have happened if you had cut that bastard's ear off!"
Ilsa resisted the urge to kick backwards like a mule and sent her bumping down the stairs again.
"Connie?", she pressed through clenched teeth as she, painfully slowly, ascended the steps once more.
"Yes?"
"You ARE getting on my nerves."
"Being with these people surely ruined your manners, dear. Pity it did nothing against your exhausting dilatoriness in decisive situations."
Okay, this time around all that saved Connie from another spectacular artistic downwards was the fact that they had finally, FINALLY reached the top of those blooming stairs.
"What is it with you?", Ilsa gasped exasperatedly. "Why in the world can't you just let go? Why do you have to bring this up time and time again?"
"Because everything went so well! We got out of the prison, your team managed to get us that earpiece in an, admittedly, very creative way, you managed to crack that safe and we were almost, almost free – when you ruined it all with your ridiculous scruples!"
Luckily the door leading out the cellar wasn't locked. Ilsa had somehow hoped once they'd get out of the cellar there'd be light, it would get easier to orientate, but instead they found themselves in more pitch black darkness, corridors flooded with water and no indication which way they could find the exit. There was no other choice, they had to trust their luck and just keep going till they hopefully found another door, one that would get them out of this mess.
"Ridiculous scruples? The only thing ridiculous is that you, Connie Pucci, Chairwoman of the Marshall Pucci Foundation, a pillar of the organization and its public face, are actually tearing me off a strip because I refused cutting off another human being's ear!"
"It was a thug! You heard him talk! He bragged with rape and murder! He was nothing but a piece of worthless mullock! They were testing us – cutting his ear off would have proved your criminal status and they'd have let us go!"
"A worthless piece of mullock yes, but torture is in no way acceptable!"
Unless certain people's lives are at stake, Ilsa added silently, deciding that saying it out loud would somewhat ruin her line of argumentation.
"That was definitely not the moment to adopt a strict interpretation of the Foundation's official declaration of principle! You risked both our lives for a psychopathic monster! Well, I guess being with Mr. Guerrero somewhat altered your moral standards."
Connie slipped, bumped against Ilsa's back and all of a sudden she found herself thrown against a wall, with her sister-in-law shouting against the howling noises from the outside right into her ear.
"You have no idea what torture does to the people who execute it. You hurt a human being, nothing is ever the same. A part of you remains tainted forever. You cross a line and can never go back. Everything suddenly becomes uncertain. You ask yourself what else you're capable of and if, one day, you'll turn against those you love… if there's a point where you'll stop or if all dams have broken… Don't get me wrong, that bastard deserves punishment, yes, but not by my hands – that's what we've got the law for!"
Ilsa released Connie.
"Come on, we really need to get out of here", she said, suddenly terribly tired.
Connie, her ears ringing and finally smart enough to keep her mouth shut, stumbled after her, still clinging to her belt loops.
At the end of the corridor they found a door that, judging from its design and general feel of solidness, seemed to lead outside. It was unlocked, but opening it nevertheless proved incredibly difficult. The strange, howling wind from the outside was pressing against it… and was that hammering sound rain?
Combining their strengths, Connie and Ilsa managed to push it open – and almost fell onto the street when the raging storm caught the door, tore it off its hinges and carried it away like a sheet of paper.
They found themselves looking at apocalypse.
"What in the…?", Connie choked.
"We've got to get back inside, there's no way we can make it through this…" Ilsa stopped in mid-sentence.
There was movement in the darkness.
A shadow stumbling towards them.
"Help! You need to help me! The house is on fire and my father…."
A young woman, completely exhausted from struggling against the hurricane, came falling into Ilsa's arms.