Nine
"Move Swan!"
The words were an order, direct and emotionless despite the chaos which encompassed them. It was like standing in the midst of a war zone; screams sound out all round whilst blood seeped along the floor, the formally wood-slated ground almost unrecognisable under the mass bodies. Despite all those horrors, Blue-eyes remained as consistent as ever, his stare fixated on her, eyes wide and alert, impossibly more intense than ever before. She looked to the shooter, the very man who was inexplicably getting to his feet, undeterred even after taking six shots to the chest. His similarly blue eyes were cold and harsh, dulled in comparison to the way Blue-eyes' lit up with anxious intensity.
The shooter's eyes were locked on her as it took slow, menacing steps towards the building, his movements unaffected by the onslaught of bullets. From the ease at which he moved, he looked fit to run a marathon. The shooter reached the broken glass window, a new and improved entrance into the bar, stopping only to pick up his dropped gun from the sidewalk.
"It's now or never, love," Blue-eyes urged. "You gonna stand there and make it easy for him, or are you gonna fight?"
She sure as hell wasn't going to remain an easy target. She broke out into a run, darting for the back door; an exit she had clocked upon first entering the bar. Blue-eyes followed her every move, as expected; he'd made it clear he was hell-bent on sticking with her. She'd let him, for the time being. Once she got rid of the crazed shooter, then she'd find a way to get the intense stalker off her case. One thing at a time.
They sprinted across the room, manoeuvring between knocked over tables and abandoned chairs. The furniture almost blurred as she passed them; everything had happened so quickly, she was struggling to keep up, struggling to process how and when exactly her life had descended into such madness. Only a couple of hours ago, her biggest problem was Neal pulling out of their date. It already felt like a lifetime ago.
Blue-eyes reached their exit first, and only because he'd opted for a dramatic vault over an upturned table which Emma had deemed easier to run around. In one fast, smooth move he thrust the door open and raced through. Emma was hot on his tail and the duo erupted into a back alley. He didn't hesitate, not missing a step, as he continued to run down the alley. Emma stopped. The shooter was no doubt just moments behind them, and she endeavoured to slow him down, to give them their best chance at a getaway. She shoved the metal door shut and dragged the garbage dumpster in front of the door, using it to form a barricade to block off the shooter's exit.
"Nice try," Blue-eyes spoke up and she did not appreciate the hint of patronization she caught in his tone, "but that will never hold."
He sounded so full of himself, so confident in his predication, that infuriation rose up in Emma and she found herself desperately wanting to punch the guy, again. She rounded on him, ready to challenge him for any better ideas he may have, only to find the man climbing into a black Ford which so blatantly wasn't his. The smashed driver's side window combined with the glints of broken glass on his black sleeves provided Emma with a pretty good picture of what had happened whilst her back had been turned.
"Oh, you're stealing a car now!" Emma commented dryly, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
Quite how her evening had gone from a date with Neal to accompanying her stalker on a crime spree, she still had no idea.
"It's either this, or running," the man provided her with an ultimatum as his search for the keys paid off, dropping into his lap from the driver's visor, "and trust me, love, that thing that's after you? It's not going to tire. It can run all night long. Can you? Because I sure as hell can't. So, yes, I'm stealing a bloody car! So, shoot me or get in because you're wasting our time."
Struggling to come up with any better ideas, Emma made a reluctant move into the passenger seat; the sharp slam of her door making sure it was clear that she was only accompanying him as a last resort. The man didn't even register her company, too preoccupied with winning his fight to get the keys into the ignition and proceeding to start the engine.
"Can you even drive?" Emma asked cautiously.
"Aye, of course I can!" he responded indignantly. "Quit your worrying, Swan. I've been driving since I was thirteen."
Emma gaped at him, certain that, even across the pond, the legal driving age wasn't that low. From the little she had seen of the man so far, however, it wouldn't surprise her if he had been involved in car thievery as a teenager. He'd made it clear he had little regard for the law.
"Thirteen?" she repeated distantly, distracted by a sudden thought, "Do you even have a license?"
"A license?" it was his turn to repeat.
The blank look on his face did not fill her with confidence.
"Of course, you don't," Emma muttered to herself.
Emma hastily reached for her seatbelt, fastening it in one quick move and releasing a small sigh of relief as it clicked in place. She had a feeling she wasn't in for a smooth drive. A loud crash from behind caused Emma to jump in her seat. She whirled her head round, searching for the cause of the noise. The alley door had been flung open; the garbage dumpster slammed into the brick wall opposite.
Irritatingly, Blue-eyes had been proven right; her dumpster barricade had been wiped out of the way like a mere ant. The shooter stepped out into the alley.
"That would be our cue," Blue-eyes muttered following a quick glance in his rear-view mirror.
His foot slammed down onto the gas pedal and the vehicle jerked forward at speed. Emma's attention remained on their pursuer, the car's acceleration prompting him to break out into a run. She turned forwards, focusing on where they were headed, a steady stream of traffic visible on the main road at the end of the alley. The brick walls either side of the alley became a blur as their speed continued to increase, Blue-eyes undeterred by the typical city traffic ahead. Emma braced herself for a collision as the car cannoned out of the alley and onto the busy road. Her crazy driver sharply turned the wheel, merging successfully onto the busy street, their abrupt arrival met with the welcoming sound of blaring horns. Their presence initiated a domino effect of red brake lights and cars swerving into other lanes, prompting more contributors to the growing orchestra of horns.
Blue-eyes remained unfazed by the chaos around him. His eyes, narrow and cold; determined, stayed fixed on the road ahead. His erratic driving continued, swerving in and out of lanes, and squeezing between cars, at a considerable speed. Emma glanced over her shoulder, taking in the trail of chaos left in their wake. Cars skidded across the road, brakes squeaking and rubber burning against tarmac, as vehicles collided into one another, seemingly creating the very beginnings of a serious pile-up. She could do nothing but hope there were no serious injuries.
Their pursuer, still on foot, charged out of the alley and straight into the path of a hurtling out-of-control police car. He was tossed into the air like a ragdoll, landing with a thud on the bonnet of another crashed car, the bonnet bending under his weight.
"That buys us a little bit of much-needed time," her driver commented casually, catching the outcome in his mirrors.
Emma was glad to see him promptly return his eyes to the road. His reckless actions behind the wheel of the car had not helped to convince her that he knew what he was doing, or that he was anywhere near being in a sane state of mind. He seemed unaffected by any part of the scene he had created behind them; it was almost like he was cut off from the world, completely detached. If anything at all, he looked glad, seemingly grateful for the time he'd succeeded in buying them as all his focus remained on putting as much distance between themselves and the shooter as he possibly could.
Sirens trailed after them as they tore down the road. Emma glanced over her shoulder once more, discovering at least five cop cars to be in hot pursuit. The sound of distant sirens suggested that cop presence was only going to grow.
"What the bloody hell are they following us for?" Blue-eyes growled.
It baffled Emma just how offended and confused he appeared at the presence of law enforcement. She found herself genuinely wondering whether he had ever heard of such a thing as laws, or whether he purely thought he was just untouchable.
"Other than the fact that you've stolen a car, initiated a pile-up, ran at least three red lights, and fired off a gun in a public space?" Emma listed off a series of crimes before admitting, "They also probably think that you're kidnapping me."
"What could possibly have given them that idea?" Blue-eyes was offended by the insinuation.
They careened around another corner, the parade of cop cars matching their every move.
"I did!" Emma exclaimed. "You can't spend all day stalking someone and not expect them to call the cops on you! At least, not in the world of reality! Now, just stop the car before you make it any worse on yourself."
"What aren't you getting? I stop this car, Swan, and that machine catches up with us and kills us both," the man responded to her bluntly and then grumbled, "Those bloody sirens will lead the damn thing straight to us."
He certainly was not pulling any punches with the word 'kill' as he once again dived into his crazy sci-fi story about machines. She hadn't a clue where he had picked up such an inconceivable notion, nor did she care, but she hated that he knew her name when she remained entirely in the dark when it came to his identity.
"Now," he continued. "This is important, and I know you're not going to like it, but I need you to listen to me and I need you to do exactly as I say becau-"
Emma scoffed – like that was going to happen – succeeding in cutting him off. He glanced at her incredulously.
"Why should I?" she challenged him. "I'm the one with the gun, remember?"
To provide a visual aid to her reminder, she pulled out, and held up, the handgun that she had taken from him earlier. She made sure to leave the safety on, however, and kept the gun pointed towards the dashboard; the guy was, after all and most unfortunately, behind the wheel of the car she was sat in. Shooting him would only put her life in even more danger than his reckless driving.
"Because – if you let me bloody finish, Swan – it's my mission to protect you," he told her.
The man continued with his senseless, uninformative spiel, though she did pick up on the way he was attempting to make himself sound of vital importance to her, a classic stalker move to force his way into her life. She knew the tricks and she wasn't falling for it. It definitely wasn't helping his case. All he was doing was suggesting that she couldn't protect herself, painting her out as helpless, and she hated it. She had more than proven to him that she was just fine on her own.
"Your mission?" she repeated. "I don't even know who-"
"Jones," he cut her off presumptuously, his eyes darting between the road ahead and the cop cars behind, "Sergeant Jones, under Gen- oh bloody hell!"
His introduction was cut short after a speedily taken corner lead them straight towards traffic. Red brake lights filled the road ahead of them, cars in front slowing down prior to the complete standstill of traffic. There was no way through. The blaring sirens to their rear were a constant reminder, a growing pressure, that they couldn't afford to stop. Or rather, Jones couldn't afford to stop, and he knew it. Emma could see shear panic in his eyes as they ferociously searched the road ahead for a possible escape route. He made an abrupt and desperate last-ditch swerve into a clear side road, tires screeching as they skidded around the corner.
As the buildings either side of them blurred – a sight Emma was growing more accustomed to as the high-speed chase went on – she eyed Jones doubtfully. She wasn't buying his military claim. It wasn't that he didn't give off a military vibe, his intensity and insistence on barking out orders sure did, but she couldn't fathom what the military could possibly want from her; she was nobody. Nobody at all special; merely a student-waitress struggling to make her way through life. If there were any doubts left that he could be a military man, his insistence on evading the police, as opposed to pulling over and smoothing out the misunderstanding, obliterated them.
No, he wasn't military.
He was a pathological liar.
They took another quick turn, and she was about to challenge him, when Jones spoke first, sharp and blunt, "You've been targeted for elimination."
She stared at him, even considered laughing at such a ludicrous statement.
Another sudden turn was followed by an immediate sharp turn into a parking structure.
"Elimination for what?" Emma questioned. "You're making no sense! I haven't even done anything."
The car sped up a ramp, taking them to the higher levels of the structure.
"No," Jones agreed with her. "Not yet. That's the point, and precisely why I've been sent to protect you. It's imperative that you live, or else it's over. All of it."
"What is happening?" Emma muttered to herself in pure disbelief. "That man back there at the bar. You shot him. Loads. You were trying to kill him. And he just shook it off, like it was nothing."
"Because it is not a man. And I wasn't trying to kill it," Jones corrected her with a firm shake of his head. "If only it were that easy. As much as I wish I could have sent that thing to the bloody depths of scrap metal hell, such a feat is impossible with the primitive weapon I possessed. I was simply doing the one thing I could, the only thing; buying us some time. That's the key, Swan. Time is crucial if we are to survive this."
He drifted off the ramp at the fourth level. The floor was packed with parked cars, but he managed to find a free space in the far corner of the lot and slot their own car into it. He turned the key in the ignition, simultaneously shutting off the engine and turning off the headlights, hiding in plain sight amongst rows of stationary cars. It was a smart move; she had to give him that much.
"We lay low here for a few minutes, make sure we've lost them, then we ditch the car and we move out again," Jones filled her in on his plan. "We have to keep moving."
He undid his seatbelt, shifting in his seat to face her, looking her dead in the eye. The familiar intensity she had gotten so used to seeing in his blue eyes was there again. The unnerving feeling she had gotten from it before had gone. Instead, she found herself getting drawn in by his gaze and the steady rhythm of their synchronised breathing, the craziness of the evening's events drifting away into the dim lighting of the parking structure.
"Alright, love," Jones spoke up, his tone calmer, less blunt, yet the urgency remained. "I know this is going to sound crazy, I know you think I'm a bloody madman, but you have to listen to me."
Emma did know it was all crazy, she did know he sounded mad and yet, despite it all, she nodded, prompting him to go on. His acceptance of what he sounded like was the thing which kept throwing her. A madman doesn't acknowledge his craziness, a madman thinks he's sane. She no longer knew what to think.
"Good," Jones failed to subdue his huge sigh of relief upon her agreeing to hear him out. "First things first, that thing in the bar? You have to stop thinking of it as human; that is so far from the truth. It's a machine. It exists purely to hunt humanity. We call it a Huntsman. If you want to get really technical, it's a Colter Dynamics Model one-oh-one, eight hundred series."
"A machine?" Emma repeated doubtfully. "You're really going to stick with that? You're telling me that guy back there, the guy that can talk and run and shoot a gun, that guy is a robot?"
"No!" Jones shot back instantly, sounding utterly appalled; she couldn't help but feel like she had hit a nerve. "It's not a robot. It's not a guy. It's a cybernetic organism."
"A machine?" Emma tried the term he had used earlier.
Jones nodded.
"No, but there was blood," Emma argued, remaining unconvinced. "I saw it with my own eyes. The wounds from your shots. He was bleeding. Machines don't bleed, they leak oil!"
"It was bleeding," Jones corrected.
His tone with low, with a hint of frustration he seemed to be trying his best, yet failing, to hold back. Emma, meanwhile, silently revelled in the breakthrough that he, at last, agreed with her about something.
He continued, "It's an infiltration unit. Outside, it looks human. Inside, it's all machine; a hyperalloy combat chassis, microprocessor-controlled, fully armoured-"
"You're just saying words!" Emma exclaimed, overwhelmed by the speed and intensity at which he was throwing the information at her, struggling to process it.
"Metal skeleton. Tough. All-but indestructible. Chip in head to receive commands from the Dark-Knight system," he simplified for her without missing a beat. "Outside, living human tissue, purposely designed to make it look human. Flesh, skin, hair, blood, all specifically grown and developed for the eight-hundred series for greater success of infiltration. It's designed to look human, it's designed to blend in, it's designed to be hard to spot. That's why I was unable to target it until it had made a move on you. I didn't know what it looked like. I couldn't pick it up in the crowd.
The six-hundred series are comical in comparison. Those were the first infiltration units Dark-Knight designed but it used rubber skin for the exterior, making identification of Huntsman easy. They can be spotted a mile off. Dark-Knight was left with no choice but to adapt. That's how smart it is. We never stood a chance against it. It can assess and adapt at will. It learns and it evolves and, therefore, so do the machines."
Emma stared at him as his science-fiction ramblings continued. He threw a whole load of information at her, information which contained a lot of numbers, trying to convince her that, somewhere out there, they could build machines which looked completely human. Maybe some crazy conspiracy theorists out there would believe him, but she wasn't a conspiracy theorist, and she wasn't having any of it.
"Do you really believe I'm that stupid?" Emma challenged him. "There's no way they can build anything like that yet."
"You're right. They can't," Jones agreed. "Not yet."
Emma swore that was Jones' favourite phrase. The guy had said it at least three times, implying, yet again, that he was talking about the future. The same future he claimed he couldn't see, and yet appeared to know so much about.
The guy was an infuriating enigma.
And most likely out of his mind.
"Not for another forty years," Jones chose to expand, his voice low, soft.
His blue eyes bore into her, almost resorting to puppy dog eyes in desperation as he silently pleaded for her to believe him. She couldn't help but wonder how much that deep, intense stare had gotten him in his youth. She wondered how used he was to people resisting the urge to cave, how used he was to hearing 'no'. That stare was so captivating, so inviting, it took a lot of control for Emma to keep herself tethered to reality, to keep herself from believing every word of the drivel pouring from his mouth.
Watching a man get up and start running after taking six shots to the chest was one thing – she had seen that with her own eyes and was very interested in finding an explanation for that – but believing in cyborg machines from the future was an entirely different ballpark.
"So, it's from the future? Is that right?" Emma sceptically rephrased his statement.
Jones frowned as he considered the question.
"Well, it's one possible future? I think? Ultimately? From your point of view?" he answered her hesitantly before waving his hand dismissively. "I don't know! I can't keep up with all the bloody science stuff. That's Mills' thing!"
"So, what you're saying is, you're from the future too?" Emma continued with her dubious line of questioning.
Jones didn't complicate his answer so much the second time. He nodded, "Aye, indeed I am."
"Of course," Emma chuckled before sarcastically commenting, "So you just flew really fast counterclockwise around the world a few times, did you?"
She received a blank look from him, "What's flying got to do with it?"
"It's…" she considered explaining the reference but decided against it, "never mind."
Done with sitting in a stationary car listening to, what she had ultimately determined to be, a raving madman in a dimly lit parking structure, Emma reached for the door handle. Jones was on her in a flash, grabbing her arm and pulling it back from the door.
"What part of this aren't you getting?" he snapped at her, his grip tight against her wrist.
"Let go of me," she growled in return.
She pulled against his grip, one he immediately relinquished upon her challenging him.
Emma continued, "I'm done with your crazy story! I'm going back to the real world."
"It isn't a story. Believe me, I wish that it were a mere tale but the machines? They are the real world. The sooner you accept that, the more chance you'll have of surviving the night," Jones insisted through gritted teeth before reiterating, "The Huntsman is out there. It has no conscience and it has just one purpose; it's mission, to kill you. You can't reason with it. You can't bargain with it. You can't stop it. It will stop only once you are dead."
"Then what are you doing here?" Emma challenged him, her own voice rising in her frustration; his story made no sense and yet he refused to drop it. "What is the point of you being here if it's just going to kill me anyway?"
"Because I can bloody stop it!" Jones exclaimed loudly in his own frustration. "I'm your only chance!"
They stared at each other for a moment, entrapped in a tense silence. His words played over and over in Emma's head, riling her up, whilst he seemed to realise the magnitude of the statement he had made.
"Maybe," he conceded, sounding a lot less assured in his abilities when he spoke again, "the weapons of these times are primitive but maybe…"
"What? You can stop it? But there's no way I can, right?" Emma stated the implication behind his words. She rolled her eyes before adding sarcastically, "My knight in shining armour."
Jones squeezed his eyes shut, seemingly regretting the way the words had come out. She took her chance, reaching for the door handle for a second time, successfully opening the door.
"Swan, I didn't intend-" Jones began to amend his words.
She jumped out of the car, cutting him off with the slam of her door. She didn't want to hear it. She started to walk away, heading towards the staircase which would get her out of the parking structure. The sound of a car door opening echoed around the structure as Jones too got out of the car.
"Swan!" he yelled after her.
"Go find some other damsel in distress!" she shouted back, not even looking at him.
"Where are you going?" he called after her, a hint of exasperation in his tone.
She rounded on him, surprised to find that he hadn't started following her. Instead, he stood leaning against the car, his arms folded, watching her. She knew exactly what he was trying to do. It was a move she had mastered in her youth. He was attempting to give off the perception that he was totally relaxed about her walking away and leaving him behind. He needed to share that message with his eyes though. They were deceiving him; the intense stare she was on the receiving end of told her that he wasn't in a hurry to let her out of his sight.
"We agree on one thing," Emma told him. "Someone out there wants me dead. I'm going to do the sane thing. I'm going to the police!"
She started her walk towards the staircase again, focused on doing what she had been trying to do from the moment her life had blown up in her face; get some police protection. As much as she could handle herself, between the murderer and the crazy guy, she could do with some back up.
"October twenty-second nineteen-sixty-three!"
Emma hesitated, stopping, rooted to the spot, when she heard the shout from behind her. She turned, facing him once more, forcing her expression to remain unreadable.
"So what?" she challenged.
"That's your birthday," he told her matter-of-factly, his blue eyes gleaming.
He knew he was right. Smug bastard.
"And that's meant to prove, what, exactly? That you're from the future?" she contested, crossing her arms over her chest, unimpressed. "Anyone could look that up. If it proves anything, it proves you're a stalker."
"You're right, Swan, anyone could look that up," Jones agreed with her, but the smug look remained on his face, like he had a trick up his sleeve. His smugness faded, his tone dropping to tenderness, "But I know that you question, every single year, whether it really is your birthday. October twenty-second is the day that you were found, abandoned on the side of the road. Everyone assumes it's the same day your parents abandoned you, except for you. You wonder if you once had a family, if only for a few days, a few hours. You could have been born the twenty-first, maybe even the twentieth. You don't care about birthdays. You never really had anyone to celebrate with growing up, and your birthday ultimately just represents the day that your parents abandoned you. It hardly feels like a day to celebrate. But still, it niggles at you, it frustrates you, that you'll never truly know something so simple as your own birthday."
Emma stared at him, her mind near enough blown. She struggled to believe a word he was saying about time travel and machine assassins and yet, I've never told anyone that."
"No, love," he agreed gently, "not yet."
"But I will," Emma muttered.
"Indeed. Just one person," Killian confirmed. "The very woman who went on to tell me."
Emma stared at him in horror because, if she really was accepting that he was from the future, that meant that her pursuer – the machine – really was as indestructible and as terrible as Jones had been insisting all along. It meant all that talk about infiltration units was the future that humanity had to look forward to.
Everything had fallen out of her control. Her life was spiralling more and more out of control as the seconds ticked by and she hated it. She felt vulnerable, exposed, lost. Alone. She felt like a child all over again, stuck in the foster system with no roots tying her to anything or anyone. In the blink of an eye, her life had been uprooted once more.
A flash of relief crossed Jones' face as he noticed that she was finally starting to believe him. He pushed himself off the car and crossed the parking structure, closing the gap between them.
"I understand it's a lot, love," he spoke softly.
He placed his hand on her shoulder, gentle, calming and, for a split second, it didn't seem quite so horrific. She wasn't alone in this upcoming fight. She had Jones with her. The two of them against one machine didn't seem quite so terrifying.
Jones' next words ruined it, "But we need to get moving. We can't afford to linger here. Like I said, the Huntsman is after us and it's not going to stop. Not until we stop it, together."
They were on the same wavelength, that was comforting at the very least. Jones' emphasis on that final word was a clear attempt from him to amend for his earlier insinuation that she was unable to protect herself. She was long past that, however; if anything, she believed him to be right. With the acceptance that his crazy story was actually true came the acceptance that she couldn't go it alone. Protecting herself from a murderer was one thing, protecting herself from a killing machine was something else entirely. His knowledge and prior experience of the machines was not something she could pass up on. She would need all of that.
Her mind was already racing with a ton of questions.
When she had believed that Jones was crazy, it had felt like he was throwing all sorts of information her way; it had felt like a constant wave of details streaming out through his ramblings. Since accepting said ramblings as the truth, Emma felt like she barely knew anything at all. There was so much more she wanted, needed, to know.
The questions were never-ending. Where do the machines come from? How do they take over? When do they take over? Why do they take over? How much time did humanity have? How do you stop them? What weapons would they need to even stand a chance?
Most of the questions she was able to push to the back of her mind. With a… Huntsman, as Jones called it, after her, knowledge of the future wasn't the biggest priority. Staying alive had to be the primary aim. Knowledge of days to come would be pointless if her own future was prematurely taken from her.
There was, however, one burning question which, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake from the forefront of her brain. It just didn't make sense. It was just begging to be asked.
"Why me?"
"Hmm?" Jones hummed in response.
He sent a brief glance her way before returning his focus to a man across the parking lot. The man was gradually making his way towards them. Jones had been watching him for a while, ever since he insisted they didn't linger yet then proceeded to make no move to go anywhere. The future man was clearly up to something, Emma just had no idea what that was.
"Why is the Huntsman here for me?" Emma expanded upon her question so that he couldn't deflect it again.
His little hum may have been his attempt to convince her that he hadn't heard her question, too distracted by the approaching stranger, but she wasn't buying it. She had seen the look on his face, like he was trying to find the words to come up with an answer. She had seen the same look on the faces of so many people whilst growing up in the foster care system. She knew far too well that it was a look which often accompanied bad news, though she couldn't quite bring herself to believe that there was any worse news for him to break than that of the ruthless assassin from the future.
Of course, he still found a way to continue to avoid her question. Without so much as a word, he casually started walking away, straight for the approaching man. Emma felt her heartrate quicken. She knew that the stranger wasn't the Huntsman but was it possible that Jones had assessed the man to be a threat? Would he identify a risk and not even tell her about it before running off to confront it? She had no idea what his methods or approach to his own mission was.
Jones walked straight into the man, their shoulders bumping against each other. The man let out a small huff of annoyance at the inconvenience.
"Sorry, mate," Jones apologised with a false smile.
Jones stuck his hand into his jacket pocket as he watched the man continue onwards without so much as an acknowledgement to the apology, not even casting a second glance back. Emma gave the man – muttering about blind Brits – ample room to pass her, not wanting to annoy him any further than Jones already had by purposely colliding with him. There wasn't a chance the interaction from Jones was unintentional; he had been aware of the stranger's presence from the other side of the parking lot.
Emma quickly took the few steps over to where he stood, determined to challenge him as to what, exactly, it was he thought he was playing at. Jones smirked as she approached him, his blue eyes gleaming as they always did when he had that smug look on his face. He seemed to read her mind, for he knew exactly what she was preparing to ask, and removed his hand from his pocket, opening his fist to reveal a set of car keys.
Emma rolled her eyes. She should have known he'd be committing some kind of crime.
"So, where's our latest stolen ride?" she asked.
Jones' smirk faded – it was beyond satisfying to know she was able to wipe that smug look of his face – and he turned to face the rows of cars behind him.
"That is the question," he conceded, gesturing to the furthest corner of the parking lot, "given where he came from, I'd wager it's somewhere over in that vicinity."
"This is going to take a while," Emma commented. "So much for not lingering."
"I saw roughly where he came from. We'll find it in no time," Jones maintained optimism.
He set off at pace, taking determined, long strides as he moved across the parking lot, to the far section he had gestured towards.
"Maybe whilst we look you'll finally answer my question," Emma prompted.
He glanced at her, "What question?"
"What's the Huntsman doing coming after me?" Emma questioned with a light sigh, growing frustrated with repeating herself. "I'm nobody."
Jones immediately stopped, Emma narrowly avoiding crashing into the back of him. He turned to her, doing that annoying thing again where he stared at her like she was the crazy one.
"You, Emma Swan, are far from nobody," he protested with deep sincerity. "You are humanity's Savior. You helped us to believe that we could win if we fought back against the blasted machines. Without you, the future of humanity is done for. Without you, there is no hope. Dark-Knight knows that. That's why it sent the Huntsman back; to wipe you from the playing field, to gain itself a great advantage."
Emma scoffed, firmly shaking her head. There was no chance. She was no-one. Even her own parents hadn't wanted her, casting her aside like a piece of trash. There was no way the future of humanity relied on her. Nobody ever needed her.
A frown flickered across Jones' brow as he took in her reaction and gently remarked, "You can accept that a Huntsman is here to kill you, but you can't accept your own importance?"
"My parents abandoned me. I bounced through the foster system, jumped from school to school, never stayed anywhere long enough to really settle down and make meaningful friendships. I can count on one hand the number of people who have ever truly cared about me," Emma told him, "and now you're telling me that the little that remains of humanity in the future cares about me so much that they would go as far as to send you back to help me stop this Huntsman."
"Aye, that's precisely what I'm telling you!" Jones insisted with a nod. "You were the one, Swan, who, after the war, stood up and refused to back down. You believed when no one else would. That initial war was… rough. The casualties were high. What little remained of humanity was scattered across the globe, disconnected from one another. The force at which the machines came at humanity, the destruction of which they caused, there was no belief that they could be bested. They seemed indestructible, untouchable, unstoppable. Until you. You changed that belief. You proved to the world that they could be stopped, that they had vulnerabilities. You are the one who brought about the belief that humans could band together and rise up against them. Without you, the machines would have won. Humanity would have been wiped out."
"That's not… anyone could have done that," Emma shrugged it off.
"They didn't. And they couldn't," Jones persisted.
He set off again, heading for the cars parked in the far corner of the structure.
Emma chased after him, determined to argue, "I really don't believe that-"
"You know, for someone responsible for inspiring belief across the remainder of the human race, you sure don't do much believing yourself, do you, love?" Jones questioned her.
"Never had much to believe in," Emma shrugged dismissively.
"Well, I for one know that changes," Jones informed her. "You come to believe in the Resistance, and in hope."
They reached the area from which Jones had first spotted the man whose car they searched for. Jones set to work trying the keys in the lock of the first car, to which he was unsuccessful and so promptly moved on.
"Hope has never gotten me anywhere in the past," Emma told him.
The comment took his concentration away from the car locks momentarily. He chuckled to himself as he glanced at her, a hint of that smug smirk reappearing on his face, as if amused by an inside joke.
"Times change," he said.
"Yeah, no kidding," Emma remarked. "After all, you come from a world ruled by machines. How exactly did that happen?"
"That's a long story," Jones responded dismissively.
"Something tells me we have some time," Emma prompted.
Not only was it taking him some time to find their newly acquired car but even once they found it, they'd only be hitting the road with the aim to put as much distance between themselves and the machine. They had all the time in the world for a long story.
"True. We shan't be parting ways anytime soon. Best get used to each other's company," he agreed. "Well then, Swan, settle in for the story of Regina Mills, also known as the Dark One, or the Destroyer, or the Architect. Personally, I'm particularly fond of bloody bitch. I'm sure you can sense where this is going."
"She created the machines," Emma deduced.
"Essentially," Jones confirmed as he failed to unlock a gray Volvo and they moved on once more. "You see, the story goes that her husband was murdered and, the very next day, the same man that killed him massacred an entire building full of people. The man in question was never caught. He got away with it. Upon her husband's death, she inherited his company."
"Colter Dynamics," Emma stated.
Jones glanced at her, a small smile tugging at his lips, "Ah! So, you have been listening! Aye, Colter Dynamics. And from his death – and the mass murder the following day – came an idea. A bloody stupid idea at that, but an idea, nonetheless. An idea to create a programme through which potential threats to the public could be identified, evaluated and pre-emptively acted upon before they ever even came to pass. Judge, Jury, and Executioner all rolled into one piece of artificial intelligence – at least, that's what I've heard the older soldiers says. Truthfully, I have no bloody idea what that even means. Alas, from that idea, Dark-Knight was created.""
"And Regina actually used it?" Emma asked.
Jones closed his fist tight around the keys in his hand when they failed to open yet another car. He turned to Emma, giving her his full attention.
"Regina wasn't the one who actually pressed the on button, at least not from what I've been told," he said. "According to the story, Regina was the one responsible for creating and developing the programme, using the resources available at Colter Dynamics, but once the technology she dreamt of became a reality, she sold it."
"To whom?" Emma prompted.
"The government. They heard about it whilst it was in development and snatched it up for a crusade they called the War against Terror," Jones answered. "They hooked it up to everything, trusted it with access, so that it could evaluate potential threats accordingly. But it all went to hell. Dark-Knight evolved. With free access to all that information, it got smart. It decided that humanity posed a substantial amount of threat to itself to justify complete extinction. And so Dark-Knight orchestrated a war. A nuclear war."
"It had access to nukes?" Emma remarked in surprise.
"It had evolved. Found a way into the system," Jones replied. "And the outcome of the war that ensued was devastating. All that remained was rubble and dust. Billions of lives lost and the few that survived were dotted around the world, divided, scared, and left to fend for themselves. No one even had a bloody clue what had happened at first. No one knew who had started it. Then Dark-Knight created the machines."
"For what, though?" Emma struggled to follow its reasoning. "If the war was won, if Dark-Knight had control, what need was there for machines?"
"Dark-Knight was designed to remove all threats. It determined that humanity's extinction was the only way to obliterate the threat it determined humanity posed. The nuclear war was only step one of its plan. It knew it couldn't eradicate all of humanity in that way," Jones explained. "The machines were created to take out the stragglers, the survivors, and finish the job that the nuclear war started."
Emma found herself drawn in as he spoke, mesmerised by the way he approached the recount of the war. He spoke so clinically, so detached of emotion, that it almost resembled something of a horror story told around a campfire. She could see, however, from the coldness in his stare, that it was no story; it was his reality. Her coming future.
"Did you – were you one of the survivors of this nuclear war?" Emma asked, attempting to find the most sensitive way to pose the question.
"No. I was born a good few years after the war," Jones answered.
Suddenly, the way he had told the events of the war made sense to Emma. To him, it was a story. A factual one, but a story, nonetheless. It was a recount of the events which had led to the harsh world he had been forced to grow up in, events which had been told to him countless times as a child.
He continued, "I grew up learning to hide from the machines, to do anything to evade them and the camps they had set up to allow for orderly disposal. The machines found use in putting the fit and healthy to work in those camps but, with the dire working conditions, it was only a matter of time before the machines deemed you unfit to work."
"Every time I think it can't get any worse…" Emma muttered.
Jones responded with a harsh chuckle, "Trust me, love. That's not even the half of it. For it wasn't only machines I was taught to evade growing up. It was other humans too."
"Humans turned against each other?" Emma inferred.
"Like I said, divided," Jones confirmed with a short nod. "Resources were low, few and far between. The feeling of hunger was something we had to learn to live with. Truth was non-existent. Pretty much everyone was out for themselves. Some were crazy, driven out of their minds by the sights they had witnessed, which only made them more barbaric and more inclined to murder people in cold blood. With our own help, the machines were so close to succeeding in humanity's extinction."
"But they didn't succeed," Emma continued. "Your presence here is proof of that much."
"The machine's success meant that their work camps were busier than ever but, ultimately, that was their downfall. For where humanity was once divided, we were now reunited in close quarters and that played right into the hands of the Resistance. The news they'd been working tirelessly to get out to everyone for years spread like wildfire in there. The machine's weaknesses became common knowledge," Jones carried on with his tale and it was a welcomed change for Emma to hear some slightly more uplifting details. "By that time, one woman was responsible for the Resistance. She led it and, over the years, she had slowly gained more soldiers and support for the movement. In dire conditions, people had nothing left to lose and she was spreading hope – a rare emotion, as you can imagine, but powerful in its own right. She spread knowledge of how to fight against the machines, inspired uprisings in work camps and brought humanity together for one sole goal; to eradicate the machines from the face of the Earth as they sought to eradicate us.
Everything she knew was taught to her by you, Swan. And not only does she share your natural instinct to lead and your superior knowledge of the machines, but she shares your name. Her name is Swan. Hope Swan. She's your daughter."
Without any warning, Emma had received the ultimate answer to her earlier question.
Why me?
It was an answer which made a lot more sense. It wasn't so much her who was important, but a child she had yet to conceive. Perhaps that was the reason Jones had been so hesitant to answer her question, because he didn't want to admit that it wasn't her who was truly humanity's Saviour.
He was watching her closely, like he was expecting some kind of reaction. He didn't get one. She had no idea how she felt about the idea of motherhood. She had never given it too much thought, used to being on her own, never contemplating the idea of motherhood, and Jones' description of events to come still felt like a story. It was so unbelievable, so science-fiction heavy, that none of it felt real. It was safe to say she hadn't properly processed any of it, completely numb to the future reality Jones was warning her of.
"That's why the Huntsman is here," Emma stated matter-of-factly. "To prevent her from ever being born."
"Not only that, but to prevent you from ever being able to train anyone, to shape anyone into the leader she becomes," Jones insisted upon stating her importance. "That way the machines can keep humanity divided and ensure their own victory."
He seemed hell-bent on ensuring that she didn't allow Hope to take all the credit. Emma didn't like it. It was too much pressure. His expectations of her were high and the thought of letting him down was nauseating.
The sound of a car engine growing closer interrupted their conversation. The direction from which the noise was coming was easy to deduce; the approaching car was on its way up the ramp. It was coming. They were both vulnerable, out in the open, visible for all to see, and moments from ending up like deer in headlights if they didn't move. For all Jones' warnings against lingering, that was exactly what they had wound up doing.
"Down!" Jones ordered immediately.
He didn't even wait for her to make her move, grabbing hold of her, his hand warm against hers, and guiding her with him as he lurched forward, taking cover crouched beside a white Pontiac.
The Pontiac and two other cars beside it were the only things standing between them and the ramp from which the oncoming car would emerge onto the level. Jones remained crouched in position beside her, his left arm wrapped protectively around her waist. She could feel his warm breath on her ear, each breath steady and calm, and she tried to match hers with his.
Remain calm.
"Have you got the gun?" Jones muttered in her ear at barely even a whisper.
After the briefest moment of panic that she had left it behind in the ditched car, Emma forced herself to get it together and hastily retrieved the gun from her waistband. She happily relinquished possession of the gun to him. Whilst she knew how to use it, she'd never had to use one in such a high-stakes situation. It was obvious that Jones had far more experience in such conditions. In return for the gun, she received the keys for the unknown car. It wasn't an ideal trade – unless she planned on keying the machine to death – but she'd had worst trades in the past.
The noise of the engine grew louder, signalling its arrival at the top of the ramp. Jones clicked the safety off the gun, removing his other arm from around Emma, and slowly lifted his head up, peeking through the glass windows of the three parked cars to sneak a glance at their new acquaintance. He dropped back down a few seconds later, letting out a small sigh of relief.
"Police car," he informed Emma.
It was quite something, considering they had just been involved in a high-speed police chase, that they were relieved at the sight of the police. The alternative was far, far worse.
"So long as we stay out of sight whilst it does a sweep of this level, we should be fine," Emma stated.
"Still, it's a bloody close call. We need to get out of here the second we can," Jones murmured back to her, eyeing the lock of the white Pontiac they were using as cover. "Have you tried the keys in that lock?"
"Oh, come on! What are the chance-oh!" Emma let out an exclamation of surprise when the key slotted in perfectly and she heard the clock of the lock upon turning. "That's just damn lucky."
"No, love, lucky would have been getting the right car immediately. We'd be long gone by now," Jones pointed out.
He glanced over his shoulder, checking on the progress of the cop car. His eyes fell on its location in the far corner of the parking lot, back where they'd ditched the last car. They were safe for the time being, hidden from view. He pulled the door open, softly and carefully, then ushered Emma inside. She clambered over towards the passenger side slightly awkwardly, whilst doing her best to stay as low as she could. She knew how important it was for their presence to remain undetected. Another police chase would only make it easier for the Huntsman to locate them, which would make everything so much harder.
As she slouched down into the passenger seat, trying to make herself as comfortable as possible whilst also attempting to remain out of view through the windscreen, Jones manoeuvred his way into the car. He also did his best to stay as low as possible, and she was in no doubt that she had looked just as ridiculous as he did when she had done it.
Jones pulled the door to just as softly as he had when he'd opened it before double checking that it had closed properly. He placed the gun onto the dashboard, placing his hand on the winder and opening the window a crack. The moment he was satisfied with the gap in the window, he had the gun back in his hand and his eyes locked on the cop car, tracking its progress around the parking structure level. It was making its way around the corner, starting its check down the row that they were parked on. Jones had the gun pointed right at it, tracking its movement, target acquired, should a shot be deemed necessary. His body was rigid, on high alert, and he barely seemed to dare to blink.
"You think the Huntsman's got ahold of a cop car?" Emma deduced from his actions.
"I wouldn't bet against it," Jones answered in a low mutter. "Reach over, put the keys in the ignition. We might need a quick getaway."
Emma gave a brief nod, not that he saw it; his attention was on the cop car and nothing else. She leaned across him, brushing against him as she did so, and placed the key in the ignition. As she withdrew into her own seat, the eeriness of the silence dawned on her. The low hum of the approaching engine was almost drowned out by the pounding of her heart in her ears. She swore it was beating double time from adrenaline and apprehension.
The car was mere metres away and the headlights were blinding, making seeing through the windscreen impossible. The identity of the figure remained unknown to them, but the driver would have no such problem with their car. The key in the ignition remained unturned, their own headlights switched firmly off. In seconds, they would be like mannequins, lit up in shop windows.
Emma squinted against the light, her eyes needing time to adjust after getting accustomed to the dim lighting of the parking structure. She could just about make out shadows and the outlines of objects. Something – she couldn't make out what – was sticking out of the driver's window. Her eyes went wide as the realization sunk in.
"Gun!" she warned Jones. "There's a shotgun!"
A loud shot rang out, echoing throughout the parking structure. It pinged against the wing mirror on Jones' side, the white plastic splintering.
It was safe to say they'd been spotted.
"It's the Huntsman," Jones declared confidently as he immediately jumped into action.
He tossed the gun onto the dashboard, freeing up his hand to turn the key in the ignition, the car roaring into life. The headlights turned on at the same time, lighting up the windscreen of the cop car and confirming what they both already knew.
It had found them.
"Grab the gun!" Jones ordered as they accelerated out of the parking spot. "Shoot it!"
"I've never shot a moving target before!" Emma told him.
"Well, love, there's a first time for everything," Jones returned optimistically.
She tried her best to stay calm, not to panic as she grabbed the gun from the dashboard. She held it in two hands in an attempt to keep it steady. She glanced out of the window on Jones' side, the cop car pulling up alongside them as both vehicles sped side by side towards the ramp.
Jones glanced at her, to the gun in her hands, "Just please do avoid shooting me."
Emma pointed the gun past him, aiming for the Huntsman in the parallel car. It was off-putting. Just how human it looked. It made her think twice, hesitate. She had to remind herself that it was far from human, that the bullet would do very little to harm it but may just give them the opportunity to get away. To survive.
"For God's sake, Swan, shoot the bloody thing!" Jones exclaimed.
The Huntsman rammed its car into the side of theirs, pushing their car against the row of parked ones. The screeching sound of the paintwork scratching off rang out around the parking structure. Emma pressed down on the trigger, her previous experience handling a gun allowing her to prepare herself for the recoil. She was pretty much on target and the bullet hit the glass of the cop car's passenger window. Jones slammed his foot on the brake, their own car slowing whilst the cop car shot on at pace. In one swift movement, Jones spun the car around, heading in the opposite direction to the Huntsman's vehicle. Jones' eyes were locked on the same ramp they had used to get up to the fourth level of the parking structure.
Emma knew exactly what he was planning. She could only hope they didn't encounter any oncoming traffic.
The possibility didn't seem to cross Jones' mind. He barely slowed down whilst taking the ramp, clearly signposted as 'up', to get down. Luck paid off and they got down to the first floor without colliding head-first with any unsuspecting vehicle heading in the opposite direction.
As they shot out of the parking structure, Emma dared to wonder whether they had gotten away from the Huntsman.
Their luck was not that good. The cop car appeared out of nowhere, clipping the back of their car as it made a desperate attempt to slow their escape. The car spun out of Jones' control, spinning to a slow stop where they found their car face-to-face with the Huntsman's.
"Shoot!" Jones ordered once more.
Emma hastily wound down her window, sticking the gun out of it, and fired upon the Huntsman's car. The machine had a similar idea, raining a storm of bullets down upon their windscreen. Holes and cracks covered the entire windscreen within seconds, it barely standing strong. Seeing through it proved difficult and there were only so many bullets it would take before it packed in and shattered on them, which would leave them entirely vulnerable.
Jones shifted the car into reverse, moving away from the Huntsman's vehicle and gathering some impressive speed considering they were going backwards. He dodged traffic with ease, swerving in and out of lanes, an impressive feat, given the lack of experience he had when it came to New York traffic.
Emma continued firing off the gun, stopping only when Jones called out to give her warning that he was spinning the car around. Said spin was tight and controlled, giving the Huntsman only the briefest of opportunities to gain on them before Jones hit the gas pedal and their car accelerated away, able to reach even faster speeds now he was no longer reversing down the road.
The two cars ploughed down the streets, bullets hailing down on each vehicle, both giving as good as they got. The noise drew the attention of law enforcement back onto them. Within minutes, a stream of cop cars were in pursuit, their blaring sirens adding to the chaos.
"Take the wheel!" Jones demanded, seemingly preparing them both for a change in tactic. "Give me the gun!"
"Hold on a minute-" Emma attempted to protest but his hand was off the wheel before she had even started speaking and the gun snatched from her hand.
The car was dangerously drifting over into the next lane, gaining on the lorry ahead of it. Emma dived over, grabbing the wheel with one hand and hurriedly turning it to return the car to its own lane. Jones readied the gun in his hand and, with his foot remaining on the floored gas pedal, leaned out of his window, aiming the gun and firing. A brief glance in the rear-view mirror allowed Emma to see exactly where the bullet had hit. The front left tire of the Huntsman's car blew, sparks flying where the metal rim dragged across the road surface.
Jones, apparently, wasn't done there for he didn't return to his seat. He remained hanging halfway out of the window, firing more shots off at the car. Emma returned her attention to the road ahead of them, her eyes going wide at the sight which befell them. They were fast approaching a junction; one that cars were already stopped at. There was no way through. They needed to slow down but she had no control over the speed of the car.
That was all Jones. His foot was pressed down on the gas pedal, his focus entirely fixed on the Huntsman behind them, not the road in front.
"Jones!" she cried out.
She glanced across at him, his head still stuck out the window, his hair blowing in the wind. There was no way he was hearing her in that and yet she still tried again, desperate.
"Jones!"
It was no use. The wind, the sirens, the gunshots were all drowning out her cries. The junction was getting closer, and she was left with just two options. Allowing them to crash into one of the stationary cars ahead was an option she ruled out immediately, leaving her with only one choice. Her hand clasped tight around the hand brake and, with one quick move, she pulled it up. The car screeched to an immediate stop, the force of the abrupt change in speed sending Jones falling back into the car and into Emma who was knocked into the side of her door, jolting her elbow.
The Huntsman didn't share the luxury of having an extra set of eyes watching out for obstacles ahead. Too caught up in getting shots off and keeping up with them, it hadn't seen the stationary cars. It continued onwards at speed, slamming into the back of an unsuspecting Volvo. The force of the collision sent the backend of cop car flying up into the air, landing back on the ground with a resounding thump, as smoke rose out of the engine, damaged from the bullets.
In their own car, Jones made desperate and unsuccessful attempts to get the engine restarted. It had cut out when Emma had yanked the handbrake and each turn of the key from Jones only led to more pathetic spluttering from the vehicle.
"Come on," Jones growled.
He hit the steering wheel in his frustration, pounding on it at least four times before trying the key in the ignition again. It did nothing but splutter.
The real cop cars, which had been lagging behind, swarmed onto the scene, surrounding their vehicle in an instant. Jones dropped his hand from the ignition, resigning to the fact that the car was not restarting. He turned to the scene outside the window, to the plethora of flashing red and blue lights, and his eyes went cold at the sight. Emma could almost see the adrenaline radiating off his body and there was a harsh determination in his eyes as he took in the threat of the surrounding police. They leapt out of their car, their guns pointed on the stationary white Pontiac. They were extremely thorough, leaving no possible escape route and yet Jones, caught up in the rush of the chase, seemed to take it as a challenge. With the gun still in his hand, he outstretched a few fingers towards the door handle.
"Are you crazy?" Emma exclaimed, diving over him to pull his arm back from the car door handle. "Don't!"
Jones shrugged his arm from her touch, still fully intending to go out there, single gun blazing. He was ready to take them all on. She could see it in the thunderous look in his eyes; his frustration at being bested.
"They'll kill you!" Emma didn't pull any punches with her warning; she placed her hand over the top of the gun, hoping he'd allow her to take it from him. "You go out there with this, they'll shoot you and then you'll have failed your mission."
Those words seemed to get through and Jones relinquished the gun into her possession before punching the steering wheel once more. The horn blared. Emma immediately let the gun drop to the floor of the car. She didn't want to get shot any time soon. Beside her, Jones slouched back in his chair, defeated, accepting the fact that they had been caught.
Emma looked to the destroyed cop car; the Huntsman gone.
"Get out of the car with your hands up!"
The order came from amongst the hoard of police awaiting them out on the road. Emma recognized the voice immediately and she scanned the gathered group of police until she was able to confirm her suspicions. Right in the centre was Detective August Booth, the same man she had seen on the news just moments before her life had been turned on its head. There was a look of great relief in his eyes, a satisfied smile on his face.
He thought it was all over. He didn't know it was barely beginning.