"They would've rescued us by now if our trackers were still working."
"I think we're too far underground. That, or whoever is holding us captive has some kind of tracking inhibitor or barrier in place."
"Great. Well, isn't that just our luck?"
"Actually, we usually seem to have better luck than this."
"Rhetorical question. Hey, do you think you can use your super robot strength to break us out of these? I think I'm starting to get ropeburn…"
"Of course. I'll just Hulk out of here, no problem." Dorian hoped his eye roll came off loud and clear, even though his partner couldn't see it.
"All right, so riddle me this, Batman: how come you know who the Hulk is but looked at me like I belong in a mental asylum when I quoted Terminator the other day?"
"I'm running my new pop culture program. The previous one was outdated, so Rudy helped me make some modifications."
"After I quoted Terminator?"
"After you quoted Terminator. But, for the record, I do understand the quote now."
"Great. Right when it's not relevant anymore."
"Looking back, it was a very good use of a quote, though."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
The silence that followed could only have been described as eerie. Somewhere in the background, fluid dripped puddles onto the old stone floor. Where it came from or what it was, Dorian couldn't say.
Not for the first time, he found himself wishing he could see John's face. Assessing the situation was usually made easier when he could read his partner's expression. Though, if he had to guess, he would say John's jaw was clenched as his eyes darted about the room, taking in every possible escape route and potential weapon. Calculating, anticipating, readying himself for the next encounter with their captors.
Despite John's sarcasm and small talk, Dorian could feel the tension building in the man's shoulders as they rested back to back. Had the ropes only bound their hands, Dorian could've easily wrested his wrists free, but it was the thick layers of rope wrapped around their chests and arms that prevented a Hulk-esque escape.
"Hey," John said, his voice echoing off the walls of their large, cellar-like prison, "does your new program have anything in it about Indiana Jones?"
"Yes," Dorian replied, doing his own scan or two for possible escape routes, "I believe there was a scene similar to our current situation in the third film."
"Right, but their way out isn't going to be our way out. Unless you have something to burn these ropes off with?"
"If I did, we'd be free by now."
"It was worth a shot. But look, I think if we can—"
"John," Dorian cut in as something flashed in the corner of his visual scan, "this room is bugged."
He heard John's teeth clamp shut. Whatever escape plan he was about to divulge would have to wait.
"You mean," John began a few moments later, "they heard us talking about Terminator?"
"And Batman and Indiana Jones."
"Well, we weren't actually talking about Batman, but I'll let it go."
"You quoted it, which would be considered talking about it."
"I said, I'm letting it go."
Before Dorian could make any sort of reply, the sound of a door slamming echoed in the distance.
They were coming back.
Tied to a chair with his back to John, it was easy to forget the bruise beginning to blossom around his partner's eye. Their last encounter with their captors had been less than optimal.
"Dorian." John didn't say much else after whispering his name, but the android was on instant alert, zoning in on the tapping of John's finger against his skin.
Morse code.
Maybe John couldn't verbally explain his plan, yet there were other ways of communicating. Though somewhat outdated, his partner seemed to be fluent in the language of dots and dashes.
Their captors burst through the door seconds later and Dorian found himself reflecting on the fact that being held hostage would have been less nerve-wracking if he knew why they'd been taken.
Something tells me we're about to find out.
Oh, really? What was your first clue?
Exactly when the more cynical part of his thoughts had started sounding like John, Dorian couldn't tell. Had it really been almost a year since Captain Maldonado had first paired them up?
You rub off on each other more and more every day.
"Dear friends," the man in charge greeted with a poisonous smile, flanked on both sides by his muscle men as he strolled toward his captives.
"Oh, is that what we are?" John quipped. "If this is how you treat your friends, I'd hate to see what you do to your—"
Dorian stiffened when a sharp smack pierced the air.
"Yeah," John said, his voice taught with pain, "that's more like it."
Their captor's smile widened. "Just making sure we still understand each other."
"Well, not everyone's an effective communicator, but I'm sure you'll get your point across eventually."
Stop. Talking.
His tongue burned with the unspoken words, with the need to tell John to knock it off before his quips landed them both in deeper trouble.
For all the good that would do.
"So, do we get to know why we're here yet, or...?"
The point man circled his captives, stopping in front of John. Now, all Dorian had to go off of was guesswork, blind to whatever was happening behind him.
"I thought you'd never ask," came the man's smooth answer.
"Oh, all we had to do was ask?" John scoffed. "Well, if I'd have known that, we could've gotten all this over with ages ago."
This time, their captor ignored the sarcasm that practically poured out of John's every word. "I have a series of questions that, according to my sources, you are the best person to answer."
"You sure know how to make your dear friends feel special, don't you?"
"John..." Dorian couldn't help but warn.
He could picture John's properly schooled expression, though he felt his partner's shoulders tense again the second their captor gave voice to his questions.
Some were about a past case or two, one was about John's father, but most of them were regarding InSyndicate. The man didn't sound like he had even taken a second to pause for breath, and by the time he had finished, one could've choked on the tension filling the air, it was so thick.
John was the first to break the silence—because of course, he was.
"Are you serious? How was I supposed to remember all that? You know, usually with these things, you ask one question at a time, maybe inflict a little pain when the captive doesn't answer, and then—"
John's sentence died on a soft gasp and Dorian forced himself to suck in a slow breath. Not knowing was an entirely different kind of torture.
"You're smarter than you look, Kennex. I have no doubt you remember every word I said down to the letter. And if for some reason you're feeling more forgetful than usual..." A mirthless chuckle escaped the villain's mouth. "I'm sure your partner can recite the questions back to you verbatim. Synthetic memory banks and all that."
"All right." John sounded stiff, as if one false move might be his last. No doubt there was a weapon involved now… "Say I remember anything from that mess of syntax. What makes you think I'd ever give you even a single answer?"
"I'm going to set a timer," their captor explained, "and by the end of it, I will get the answers I need."
"Wow. You sound confident. What makes you so sure?"
Dorian had to hand it to John, whose voice never faltered: the man knew how to hold a cool exterior.
"You'll have no choice," came the chilling response.
No more than a half-second later, Dorian heard John's strangled gasp before the latter swiftly bit down on his tongue.
"John!" Dorian fought to turn his head as far as it could go. To get even the smallest glimpse of what was happening on the other side of their prison. "What did you do to him?"
"Left untreated," the man explained, taking a few steps into Dorian's peripheral vision, "the first stages of shock will begin to set in within the hour. How fast that occurs is up to your body. When you're ready to give me my answers, just shout them out. I'll be able to hear you. Once I get what I need, you'll get what you need, which will very soon be a trip to the hospital. I'm not a cruel man, but I am a businessman. We'll make a trade, you and I. Something you want for something I want—and I always get what I want."
John bit out a string of hissed curses as the man began his retreat.
"Oh," the villain added just before reaching the door, "and just in case you get any heroic notions of taking your secrets to the grave, I'll remind you that if you die, I'll leave your body here along with your partner's. I wonder how long it will take for his charge to run out… It's just like I told you when we first met, no one ever will find you down here. Not in a million years."
The slamming of the door hammered home the severity of their situation. Everything had escalated so quickly. Calm, Dorian. Calm down. You'll find a way out of here.
We always do.
"John? What happened?" Though he could make a pretty good guess judging by the pain-filled breaths John was vainly trying to hold in.
"I think…" came the labored reply, "he missed the more vital organs…"
"John!"
"Dorian…" John breathed, his voice drenched in pain.
And then the tapping began again. Slower, more methodical and concentrated this time around, and very much abbreviated, but Dorian got the message.
He left knife.
Steeling himself against the imminent answer, Dorian tapped back: Where?
My left side.
Though he had been anticipating John's response, Dorian couldn't hold back a wince.
Use it, John tapped out when Dorian didn't reply. Cut ropes.
Do you have any idea what will happen if I pull that knife out of you, John? Without it serving as a stopper, you'll—
"Slow down," John blew out on a pained hiss.
"Sorry."
John, he tapped, forcing his fingers to move at a more methodical pace, you'll bleed out.
Not if we escape first.
Less than an hour, the man had said. And that was with the knife holding in the majority of John's blood. Dorian dreaded to think about the fatal consequences of ripping the weapon out of the wound.
Gotta risk it. The taps against his hand were slightly weaker this time around and Dorian knew their clock was already beginning to run down. Trust me?
Setting his jaw, Dorian nodded, not even caring that his partner couldn't see it. Always.
Any time now… Until John's next succession of taps, Dorian hadn't realized he had not moved.
"Just… give me a minute," he whispered.
"We don't have a minute." Pull it out.
Forcing back a sigh, Dorian started blindly groping around.
If he could only detach himself from the situation—hover above things, so to say, as if having an out-of-body experience—then he was confident in his ability to…
… To rip the knife out of John's side.
The android held back a wince. Right, he told himself. Don't think about it like that.
He was simply retrieving a weapon with which to cut their bonds. Yes. That's better.
Sort of…
"There," John breathed when Dorian's fingers brushed against something hard.
Okay.
Dorian readied himself.
Okay…
"According to your new pop culture thing," John abruptly began, "what's your favorite movie?"
It was a distraction, for all those listening and for himself. Dorian could tell by the way John's tone was just a bit too casual.
Sorry, John, came his silent apology as he wrapped his fingers around the knife hilt.
"While the program gives me extensive knowledge of movies, television shows, and music, it doesn't dictate my favorite movie."
Three, he tapped.
"Okay, then. So, you don't have a favorite movie?"
Two.
"If I had to pick, I'd say..."
One.
Yanking the knife free, Dorian did his best to block out John's muted groan, which made itself known despite John's obvious efforts to clamp his mouth shut.
"… Hocus Pocus."
"What?" John huffed, his tone practically dripping with pain. "That one? Why? I mean, it's classic, sure, but it's… There are so many better choices! It's… Well, I'd bet ten dollars it got less than ten percent on Rotten Tomatoes."
"It has a thirty-eight percent scoring on Rotten Tomatoes, and it was the first movie I ever saw," Dorian explained, all the while positioning the blade against the ropes binding John's wrists. "You made me watch it on Halloween."
"Right… That's right… Good…" Pausing for a breath, John swallowed another groan. "Good times…"
Wasting no more time, Dorian began the slow—too slow, too slow, we're running out of time—process of cutting John free.
"What's your favorite movie? Don't say Terminator."
He could almost hear the smirk John was trying to pull off. "What if it is?"
John tugged at the rope. Almost...
"Nah," his partner went on, "there's actually this really great Indie film I need to show you. When we get out of this…"
When. Dorian cut harder. Because they were going to get out of this.
A soft snap spoke of John's impending freedom. Without a word, Dorian felt John take over with the knife and soon enough, his own wrists were free.
"How's it looking for the Hulk?" The subtle reference prompted Dorian to tug at the thick binding around their chests. Even with his freed hands, he was hard-pressed to escape.
In another silent exchange, Dorian reclaimed the knife and worked on cutting the rest of their bonds.
"Tell me something." Dorian had been working so intently that John's sudden request startled him more than he thought possible. "Anything. I need to… to concentrate on something else…"
"Something like an interesting fact? Such as it would take approximately nineteen minutes to fall directly down to the center of the Earth?"
"Not a statistic. And why do you even know that?"
"Something about myself, then?"
"Sure. Anything."
The second he suggested it, Dorian regretted the words. What was he supposed to say? John already knew a lot about him, what else was there to tell?
"I… think it would be cool to have a dog."
John's chuckle was a strange mix of humor and pain, one that had Dorian applying more force to the knife. "I don't think you could keep a dog in the lab. Besides, Rudy just strikes me as the kind of guy who's... who's probably allergic."
"I wouldn't keep it at Rudy's," Dorian countered. "I'd keep it at your house."
"My house? What makes you think—" A hiss stole his partner's breath away for a moment. "—That I'd let you keep... a dog at my house?"
"Because we're partners. And you like me."
Friends, more like, but neither of them had said that word out loud yet. The deep, brotherly connection he felt with John wasn't something he could describe unless he wanted to risk being at the wrong end of John's sarcasm.
No, John would have to say it first or else he'd never admit to it otherwise.
"I like Stahl, but you don't see me inviting her dog to live with me."
"She has a dog?"
"Well... if she did."
The first rope snapped and Dorian could have cried in relief. They were almost there…
After that, it was a fight to untangle themselves. Easier said than done, though not impossible. The second he felt the bindings slip loose, Dorian bent down and cut his ankles free.
Then, he braced himself for John. The man looked worse off than he'd imagined, pale face contorted in pain, blood streaming through shaking fingers that clutched at his side.
Though he said nothing, the message was crystal clear. Hurry up…
Cutting the last of John's bindings, Dorian helped him stand.
Fine. He's going to be fine—
His internal scanners told him otherwise. John… didn't need to know how little time he had left.
Carefully, he slung his arm around his partner's shoulders and helped John stand. This time, he found it harder to ignore the strangled gasps and groans.
When John tapped out his next question, Dorian realized he'd never heard—or felt—morse code sound so… slurred…
How bad does it look? That was the gist of it, despite several missing letters and run-on patterns.
Dorian took another quick scan of John's wound before responding. Fine.
Liar. Statistics.
You don't want to hear them, Dorian tapped, all the while doing his best to avoid eye-contact as he led the way to the door.
Which was most likely locked… So, not there…
That bad?
I'll get us out of here. Scanning the room for an alternate escape route, Dorian tightened his hold on John. I promise.
"Sure," John slurred, eyes fluttering. "Sounds great…"