1
CHAPTER 1 – INCARCERATION
Squall awoke to the now all-too-familiar pounding in his head. His eyes creaked open to a single fluorescent light shining down on him. He lay on a cold, hard slab of metal, devoid of any sheets. Laguna's mattress had been so much more comfortable. Against all odds, the bumbling soldier had survived the fall. Suddenly, he remembered his own fall, and his last abiding memories from just before: the duel with Seifer atop the parade float; his standoff with Sorceress Edea; the excruciating pain as he'd been impaled by the icicle; and Rinoa's horrified face peering down as he'd fell.
He abruptly sat up. Fighting against the dizziness, he thrust his black-gloved hand into the right side of his jacket. His fingers reappeared through a gaping hole in the leather. A tear of equal dimensions was torn through his white undershirt. There was no gash, nor any indication of a puncture through his exposed skin. He frantically reached behind his back with his other hand, quickly locating the spot where the ice spike had exited. Once again, a tear in his clothing, and nothing else. Not even the tell-tale sting of a wound on the mend.
Thoroughly bewildered, he brought his hand back around to touch his face. His fingers brushed across the scar between his eyes; he was indeed back in his own body. Satisfied, he finally took a look around at his surroundings: a steel-plated cell in the shape of a hexagonal prism turned on its side. There was no furniture save for the slab that was his bed, and the toilet in the corner. A sealed hatch with a view-port was set into the opposite wall. Pitch darkness awaited beyond, the bulb above his only light.
He zipped up his jacket against the cell's frigid temperature. Besides his gunblade, belts, watch, wallet, supply pouch, and Guardian Force sphere, his lion pendant and matching ring were likewise missing. Both could be chalked up to standard procedure to prevent suicide by asphyxiation. All the same, he still had no idea where he was, nor how he could possibly be alive. He recalled having awoken in Galbadia Garden's infirmary following Laguna's plummet from the cliff-side, left to wonder if he'd passed from the living world and into the afterlife. Now, trapped within the cell's freezing confines, he began to consider as much again; that there was no wound seemed to give the possibility credence.
No, you're letting the fear get to you! Pull yourself together! There's got to be an explanation for all this…
As he mired in his anxious thoughts, a sudden jolt shook the walls around him. He yelped as he tumbled forward and off the bed. He outstretched both hands to break his fall, landing on his palms and knees. The room jerked again before he could raise himself. A mechanical whirring started up as it began to move horizontally. He fought to steady himself, staying hunched over on all fours. Soon, the cell started upward. He craned his neck up to the view-port; a rapid swirl of plating flashed on by through the glass.
The ascent continued for nearly half a minute, until gradually the containment unit slowed. It came to a rest with another hefty jolt. Squall heaved himself up from the floor, dizzily returning to his feet. The cell's hatch hissed open to his side. He floundered about as the room continued to spin around him, when a hand firmly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, halting him in place. A snide voice then menaced into his ear, just as it had the morning of the field exam.
"Squall, you're pitiful."
No sooner had the taunt registered, he was flung back across the width of the holding cell. His head collided sharply with the edge of the bed. He saw stars. He felt blood begin to spill forth from his aching temple as he collapsed.
"Take him to the torture chamber!" the voice commanded again.
Two streaks of orange were all he could make out before his eyes gave way. His mind faded into the abyss once again, a strange licking sensation on the bloodied side of his face his only comfort; its repetitiveness lulled him into the black.
"What was that?" Selphie asked.
Zell wondered the same; the noisy mechanized whirring had just passed by outside.
"I'd guess that huge crane arm we saw up top," he replied.
"They probably use it for easy access to the lower levels," Quistis agreed. "You saw how deep that shaft went. Anyway, it's not important. We need to find a way out of here before they can fire those missiles."
"If anyone's got any ideas, shout 'em out!" Selphie called out.
"Don't mind me," Rinoa said bitterly. She sat on the opposite end of the room from them, with her eyes trained to the floor. "I'd hate to go sticking my nose in your business again."
Zell grimaced, meeting Selphie's unsettled stare by his side. She wore his signature red and black jacket over her yellow overall-dress; he'd offered it to her to better keep herself warm against the cell's chill. It had been the least he could do after she'd healed the bullet wound in his leg, a feat he still had difficulty believing.
He leaned against the metal plated wall in his plain, sleeveless undershirt and jean-shorts. Quistis sat a short ways off, her pink zip-up vest and brown arm warmers perfectly suited for the conditions. As a master of ice spellcraft, the cold likely wouldn't have fazed her even without them. Perhaps under different circumstances, she would have loaned the warmers to Rinoa; the girl had only her duster sweater, ragged and torn from the lizard creatures' claws. There had been no such kindness offered.
Zell and his fellow SeeDs had awoken on the parade float, as the sorceress had dissolved the petrification spell that had turned them to statues. Still disoriented, they'd been hauled to their feet by a group of soldiers, and promptly cuffed. The thick metal restraints were exactly like those Rinoa had shown them; with a few button presses, both on either wrist were magnetically bound together behind their backs. The instinctual urge to resist dissipated as he'd noticed Rinoa standing on the float with them. A pair of standard handcuffs were affixed to her wrists. Her thighs and waist had been bandaged up, presumably by Squall; relieved as he was to know she'd survived, he'd wondered why he wasn't with her.
Just then, he'd been hauled up onto the platform. A massive icicle protruded through his shoulder. Zell had looked on in disbelief with the others as they were all relieved of their weapons, GF spheres, and other personal effects. Seifer stood by his liege, paying no mind to the proceedings. His amazement, for whatever reason, had instead been directed to his right arm, clutching at it as he gingerly rotated his wrist. Finally, Edea had made her way over to Squall's limp body, held upright by two soldiers. With a wave of her hand, the ice spike had shimmered out of existence. A brilliant glow then materialized in her palm; it had looked no different from the energy Selphie had called upon to heal his leg. A moment later, it went to work just the same. The gaping hole in Squall's shoulder magically congealed, and mended without a trace.
"Take them away," the wicked witch had commanded Seifer before disappearing into a shroud of darkness. "I must be off to deal with the rest of the government. I leave the interrogation proceedings to you. Do not disappoint me again, boy."
"As you wish," he'd responded with a hint of ire.
The four of them had been marched down off the float, and through the newly cut opening in the gateway. They were herded into a waiting prisoner transport on the other side. Zell had just managed to spot Squall being hauled into a separate car before the rear loading doors slammed shut. From there, it had been a long journey due south. They'd eventually been transferred onto a military-operated rail-line bound for the D-District Prison.
Along the way, Quistis had made her best effort to show newfound concern for Rinoa's wellbeing. Alas, whether she were still unwilling or unable to reconcile, the girl had shown her nothing but contempt in return. In the face of such ungratitude, it hadn't taken long for Quistis to revert back to her own foul demeanor. Even now, the two refused to so much as look at one another.
"Where do you think they're keeping Squall?" Selphie broke the awkward silence.
"I want to say they'd put him in the medical bay," Zell said. He brought up his arm with the Odine Bangle still attached to place his hand on his chin. "But… well, after how she sealed that hole clean up, I gotta wonder if he even needs it. Thanks, by the way. For the bullet wound. You're a real miracle-worker yourself."
"Oh, yeah, don't mention it" she blushed. "Speaking of which, I wonder what happened to Irvine."
"I've never seen anyone other than Commandant Xu use holy spellcraft before," Quistis cut her off. "And I don't remember there being another GF of that kind on record."
"Yeah, guess I kinda won the lottery there, huh? For all the good it does us now."
Zell parted his lips to reply, when the door hissed open. Two uniformed guards stepped inside, each armed with a nightstick.
"Which one of you is Rinoa?" the one at the head spoke.
Zell flitted his eyes across the room to her. The girl raised her head from her hunched knees.
"Uh, I… I'm Rinoa," she answered in a shaky voice, and rose to her feet.
"You're coming with us," he sternly motioned to her. "The rest of you, stay right where you are."
"Hold up!" Zell intervened. He relieved himself from the wall, and stepped forward to confront the guards. "What do you want with her? What are you gonna-"
The nightstick cracked across his left cheek, twisting his neck to the side. His face screamed in agony as he toppled over.
"Zell!" the three ladies shrieked his name in unison.
Their boots scuffled across the floor as the second guard entered the fray. They all just as quickly halted in their tracks as he drew a taser.
"Don't screw with me, you little punk!" the first soldier roared from above. "You understand who's in charge here?! I'm asking you a question!"
Zell hacked as he was kicked in the midriff, and rolled over onto his back. Now bleary-eyed, the fluorescent lights above resembled a heavenly constellation of stars.
"Stop!" Rinoa's voice suddenly ripped through the cell. "I'll go, so just leave him alone, please!"
At her compliance, Zell's attacker begrudgingly backed off. Selphie rushed over, took hold of his shoulders, and helped him sit up. His head was spinning, his jaw still sore from the nightstick. With one last disconcerted look back, Rinoa strode on by, and followed the guard out the door. The second remained standing in place with his taser still trained to them.
"Back against the wall, all of you!" he ordered.
"Where are you taking her?" Quistis demanded of him.
"General's orders. She's got a full pardon. Now, hurry up!"
Zell's eyes bulged at the unexpected news. He'd assumed any influence Caraway might have held had died with the president. That he'd been able to arrange a pardon for his daughter spoke volumes. Evidently however, it had not been enough to manage the same for them. His spirits deflated, he rose back up to his feet with Selphie's assistance. With one hand around her shoulders, and the other to his battered stomach, they retreated back to the wall with Quistis. The guard promptly holstered his taser, spun on his heel, and took his leave. The door swung shut moments later, magnetically re-sealing with an electrical hum.
"Well, at least she'll be safe this way, I guess," Selphie sighed. Zell finally let go, and slumped back against the cold steel plating.
"Maybe she'll show a little gratitude to him for once," Quistis huffed. "Either way, she's finally out of our hair. Good riddance."
Zell bowed his head in despair. He had no interest in taking sides. All the same, he could not condone such petty grudge holding, no matter how strongly he shared her sentiments. Though in the past he'd let himself be goaded by Seifer more times than he cared to admit, now was the time to remain level-headed. Now was the time for Quistis' usual calm, analytical self. Instead, his former instructor crossed to the room's opposite end, seemingly prepared to further stew in her foul mood.
We are so screwed…
Squall's eyes flitted open to yet another bright light shining in his face. His arm met resistance as he tried to bring it up to shield his vision. He craned his neck to the side to see his wrist shackled by a metal restraint. It was then, as gravity pulled his weary head back down, that he realized he was not lying flat, but held aloft against the wall, his arms splayed out as if he'd been crucified. A thick bandage had been patched on his right temple, just barely dipping down over his eye.
"Well, good to know you're a light sleeper," the voice from before mocked him.
He brought his neck back down, and squinted through the brightness. Sure enough, his smug rival stepped forth from the shadows. His arrogant blue eyes, divided by the scar Squall had left between them, looked him over with amusement. Squall blinked his own as he noticed the ebony gunblade held within his grasp; the arm in question moved too fluidly for having taken a bullet.
"I'm sure you can guess what happens now."
"Are you proud of yourself?" Squall shot back. He instinctively squirmed within the restraints. "You've sold out everyone and everything you've ever known, and for what? Power? Fame? Whatever it is, I hope it was worth reducing yourself to that witch's lapdog."
"Lapdog?" he echoed with a callous chuckle. "I told you, I've become her knight! And as for 'that witch'… dear me, Squall, just how heartless can you be?"
Heartless…
Hadn't Irvine accused him of the very same thing?
"Just think: without her, you'd be in the morgue right now. And I'd be short a limb."
Seifer twirled the Hyperion in his freshly healed right arm. Through the spotlight's glare, Squall could just make out the tear in his jacket where the bullet had passed through.
"Miraculous, isn't it? The divine gift of the sorceress, bestowed to humanity by the great god Hyne, and passed down from time immemorial by the chosen women who carry on his legacy. Oh, but you're too educated to believe in 'fairy tales' like that, right?"
Squall would have thought as much not even a week earlier. With all that he'd borne witness to in the last few days however, there was no longer any denying the power's legitimacy.
"She could even mend these scars on our faces," Seifer smirked. He suddenly raised his gunblade to just below Squall's chin. "But you know what, Squall? I've been thinking I'll keep mine, until the day I finally have my ultimate victory over you, man to man. And then, I'll have the last proof of your existence wiped from my face. Just you wait."
"Give me back my gunblade, and we can settle it right here and now," Squall menaced as he fought to back his face away from the blade.
"Oho, sounds like someone's got a death wish," he laughed as he retracted his weapon. "But we can't have you dying on us just yet. There's still so much we need out of that twisted little mind of yours. So, be a good boy. Give us the information we're looking for, and I'll gladly give you that warrior's death."
"What could I possibly know?"
"What, indeed. Let's cut right to the chase, then. I'll spell it out nice and easy for you: Where. Is. Ellone?"
Squall's heart skipped a beat, and leapt into his throat. Dream and reality collided once more, just as they had outside of the Royal Galbadia Hotel. To have stumbled onto the scene of one of his visions had been surreal enough. To now hear the name of someone from that world spoken was unbelievable, much less that Seifer somehow knew of his dreams.
"Oh my," the blonde smiled. "If that isn't the guiltiest face I've seen in a long time."
"I… I'm not even sure who that is," he stammered.
It was closer to the truth than any other rational answer he could give. Seifer's face instantly became a scowl.
"Squall, do you think I was born yesterday? I don't care how much Cid's brainwashed you, don't insult my intelligence. Just for that, you win a special prize."
He motioned to the room's right-hand side. Straining his eyes, Squall could discern the looming silhouette of a bulky generator in the far corner. A uniformed figure manned a control console beside it.
"Just a light one to start us off."
"Yes, sir!" a gruff voice responded. "Here's some payback for ya, you little shit!"
Squall opened his mouth in confusion. His intended words became a tortured roar as the electricity surged through him. His limbs jerked wildly in place. Every nerve exploded in agony. He abruptly recalled President Deling's public execution, wondering if he too might meet the same fate. Slowly, the pain subsided.
"Consider that a warning," Seifer smirked. "Don't play dumb with me. Edea knows safeguarding Ellone is one of SeeD's primary aims. Now, let's try this again. Where is she?"
His tongue was frozen, his mind perplexed beyond belief. The idea that the young girl from his latest vision was somehow related to SeeD was ridiculous. He recalled Laguna's re-telling of her past, and how she'd narrowly escaped abduction by Sorceress Adel's forces; he could now safely conclude that the dreams were in fact visions from roughly 20 years ago. For another sorceress to now be seeking a girl with the same name went beyond coincidence. And yet, he knew nothing of her current whereabouts, nor her alleged connection to SeeD. Neither the headmaster nor the administration had ever mentioned anything of the sort.
"I don't know," he insisted, his voice still shaky after the electric shock. "Even if I did, do you really think I'd tell you?"
"Hmph. You're on my 'tough-nut-to-crack' list, all right. Didn't think you'd talk so easily. Have it your way. Take it up a notch!"
Squall braced himself for another round. The electricity again sent him thrashing all about in his restraints. He grit his teeth against the pain, seemingly more intense than before; he could hardly tell whether the voltage had indeed been increased, or if his endurance were simply waning. It soon fizzled out again. He let his head slump forward, panting heavily to catch his breath.
"Remember this: even if you won't talk, the others will. The instructor, the little messenger girl, or even the chicken-wuss. I bet he wouldn't last three seconds!"
"They… they're all here?" Squall stuttered. He somehow found the strength to raise his head.
"Oh, you bet!" Seifer sneered. He again raised his gunblade to just before Squall's chest. "But since I like you so much, I figured you should go first. I would say you'd be saving them a lot of suffering by just giving in… but then, when have you ever cared about anyone but yourself?"
The slight normally wouldn't have gotten to Squall; he'd always lived alone, in service to his own interests and well-being, and felt no shame in doing so. Now, it presented a sting to rival the electricity. The intense emotions as he'd charged in to save Rinoa had been so real, just as his relief when he'd managed to save her from the lizard creatures. Likewise, he'd been grateful for her own intervention on the parade float, not to mention Irvine's marksmanship. Now, strapped to the wall, helpless to save himself, he needed someone's help yet again.
"Why so quiet all of a sudden? This is the scene where you swear your undying hatred for me! The tale of the evil mercenary versus the noble sorceress' knight! Don't disappoint me now!"
"N-noble?" Squall sputtered weakly. "You think… this is noble? You're… nothing but a sadist."
"Maybe," Seifer hummed, retracting his gunblade again. "And it sounds like you've got quite the masochistic streak yourself. Let's contin-"
"Sir Seifer!" a new voice came from the door. "Major… er, Lieutenant Biggs!"
"Dammit, Wedge!" the soldier at the control panel swore; Squall suddenly recalled just where he'd heard the voice before. "Can't you see we're in the middle of something?!"
"Y-yes, sir! But there are new orders from Sorceress Edea. Specifically for Sir Seifer."
"What kind of orders?" the blonde pivoted to the door.
"The missiles targeted for Trabia and Balamb Gardens will be ready to launch within the next several hours. Sorceress Edea has commanded that you be on site at the base for final preparations."
What?!
"Right now?! We've only just started the interrogation!"
Squall's ears tuned out the rest of the conversation. His mind stayed fixed on the mention of a missile strike. Without advance warning, the two Gardens would be reduced to a pair of smoldering craters.
"Fine," Seifer finally acquiesced. He turned back to Biggs by the control panel. "Take over from here. I'll be expecting results when I get back."
"Yes, sir!"
The demoted former major saluted. Seifer ignored him, instead turning back to Squall. His face showed not an ounce of regret.
"Surprised? It's a pity, really. I grew up there, too. But orders are orders. Edea wants both Gardens destroyed. And once they're gone, that's when the SeeD hunt will begin. It'll be a blast, so don't go dying on me yet, Squall."
"You… sick fuck!" Squall roared with what little strength he had left. Seifer paid him no heed as he trailed to the door.
"Well, looks like I'm the one calling the shots now!"
Biggs stepped away from the console, and motioned to his subordinate on the other side.
"Wedge, you man the controls!"
"Y-yes, sir! It's just… the electricity, well… it gives me bad flashbacks of Dollet."
"Oh, don't be such a wimp! Look at it this way: once we're done with this brat, we can call up that little bitch next and give her a taste of her own medicine."
"Why… why are you following Seifer?" Squall eked out. There was a chance, however slim, that he could sway the lieutenant's anger in his favor. "He's the one who led us up to the tower. He's the reason you got demoted. How can you be okay with taking orders from him?"
"You're crazy if you think I trust him!" Biggs affirmed. "Or that slimy witch. No one in their right mind around here does. But like it or not, they're the ones running the show now. And if you think I'd trust you any more than them, you've got another thing coming! Now spit it out! Where's this 'Ellone' girl?"
His only potential gambit had failed. There was no longer any recourse but to accept his punishment, and hold out for as long as he could.
"I've already told you, I don't know where she is!"
"Wrong answer! Fry him, Wedge!"
The electricity surged through his body for a third time. His body spasmed uncontrollably as tears began to spill from his eyes. He could no longer bear the all-encompassing agony. Time lost all meaning to him. His mind descended into a haze as the the torture continued. Whether for minutes or hours, he could no longer tell; he had become numb to the world. As his eyes finally gave way, he could hear a metallic pounding echo in the distance, drifting further and further away.
"What the… on out there…?!" Biggs bellowed as his vision blurred.
Good night…
Zell's ears perked up at the sound of the door; its magnetic seal disengaged for the first time since Rinoa had been escorted out. He shifted his eyes and rose to his feet. He would be ready for another stand-off if and when it came. Moments later, in hobbled a sight he hadn't expected.
The stout feline creature stood no taller than three feet high. Striking orange fur covered its body, spiked on top of its head and at the end of its swaying tail. Its breast was a brilliant white streak, popping out amidst the fiery coloring. Its oversized paws carried a metal tray with three small bowls of gruel balanced atop.
"A moomba?" Quistis finally spoke up.
Zell vaguely remembered his biology studies from years before. They were an omnivorous breed of mammal, native to the northernmost Trabia snowfields. Despite their sharp claws, they were said to be quite benign, and reasonably intelligent creatures.
"Aw," Selphie adored it. "It's been a while since I've seen one of these little guys. Never would've expected to see one so far from home."
"Explains why it's so freezing," Zell hummed. "But… what's it doing here? You telling me they use these guys for slave labor?"
"You catch on quick."
A guard stepped on through after the moomba, and closed the door behind them.
"Just take your slop and eat. Leave the bowls by the door when you're done."
"You jerk!" Selphie shot to her feet. "How do you people sleep at night?! I oughta knock you into next week!"
"Selphie, calm down!" Quistis urged her.
"You think so?" the guard smirked. "In that case, maybe you'd prefer to eat off the floor!"
He thrust his boot forward against the moomba's back. It toppled over face-first with a squeak. The metal tray flew from its paws, clanging loudly against the floor. The bowls spilled their disgusting contents, which quickly pooled into a thick puddle in the center.
"How d'ya like that?!" the soldier roared, dominantly placing his foot atop the small creature.
"Who the hell do you think you are?!" Zell shouted.
He darted forward, leaping over the pool of sludge. The guard removed his foot from the moomba's spine, and entered a fighting stance. He caught hold of Zell's fist. Undeterred, he fired back with a hook to the jaw; the blonde brawler just barely swerved his head out of the way, and pulled his caught fist free. Without his metal knuckles or conjured stone gauntlets, he would have to be far more cautious. He drew back his right arm for a low jab. The guard side-stepped, and threw one of his own. Zell caught the fist, and the next one. They both stood locked in a stalemate, each vying to push the other back.
"Huh?!"
The soldier suddenly disengaged. The moomba had risen to its feet in the interim, and begun forcefully shoving its aggressor back with Zell. The unexpected tag-team effort sent him stumbling backwards. He lost his footing as he stepped into the puddle of slop, and slipped. Down he went on his back, his trousers landing squarely in the small pool. Selphie and Quistis both shot in from their respective corners, the former immediately going to town on his face. Zell rounded the puddle, took hold of his shoulders with Quistis, and restrained him as the pummeling continued. Finally, he fell unconscious, his head drooping limply to the side.
"Well, that hit the spot!" Selphie proclaimed as she turned her attention to the moomba. "You okay, little guy?"
The small orange creature let out a squeak in response. It appeared to understand her concern.
"Now's our chance to escape," Quistis said.
She dragged the soldier's listless body out of the puddle. The slop on the back of his pants painted a wide streak as she maneuvered him to the wall.
"Zell, let's get you into his uniform."
"You want me to put on those?!" he protested, pointing to the soiled pants.
Quistis paid him no mind. She flipped the soldier onto his stomach, removed her gloves, and began using them to sop up the gruel.
"You're the CQC specialist here," she explained. "Without our equipment, you're our best chance. If you can find out where our weapons are being held and bring them back, maybe we can fight our way out of here."
"Your weapon at least," Selphie moaned. "Mine got sliced in half, remember?"
"I guess," Zell conceded. "Still, talk about gross."
"It's our only option," Quistis said. She'd already begun stripping the unconscious man of his attire.
"Unless you wanna skin this little guy and wear him as a disguise," Selphie jokingly motioned to the moomba.
The furry creature squeaked in alarm. It fell to all fours, and raced to the other side of the room.
"I'm only kidding, silly!"
Begrudgingly, Zell grabbed the helmet, and slid it over his head. He quickly donned the remainder of the navy blue uniform. His face contorted in revulsion as he slipped into the pants; they were still visibly stained on the rear, and reeked of the bowls' former contents. He would need to maintain his distance as much as he could from any patrols along the way.
"Well, here goes nothing," he sighed. "I'm not gonna lock the door, so keep a close eye on that guy. If he wakes up, don't give him a chance to make a break for it."
"Rodger!" Selphie saluted.
Zell turned to the door. He prepared to throw open the hatch, when a light patting on his forearm drew his attention. He looked down to his side. The moomba stood there on its hind legs, playfully pawing at him.
"You wanna come with?" he asked. The creature nodded its head with a purring sound. "Alright then, let's get going."
He reached for the latch, and stepped on through. The prison's central hub waited beyond. The vast circular walkway he stood upon ringed a massive shaft in the middle; he'd gotten a glimpse over the guard-rail when they'd been ushered in earlier that morning. The gaping hole extended deep into the earth, far beyond the meager fluorescent lighting around him. Each level above and below was comprised of an identical circular catwalk, lined by a set number of cells.
He quickly closed the door behind him and his furry companion. The nearby control panel operated the cell's magnetic sealing; as there were presently no other guards on his level, he bypassed it without bothering to put on a show. He made his way to the nearby staircase leading up. By its side, an open floor hatch gave way to another flight of steps leading down. A steel placard on the wall read: 'General Population Floor 7'.
We came in from up top, so that's probably the way to go.
The two climbed the steps up to the next floor. It was virtually identical, with no visible distinction besides the number on the wall. He scanned his eyes all across the catwalk, spotting no sign of life. What did catch his attention however, was a lone security camera hung from the ceiling on the other side; its lens was trained across the shaft to the staircase where they stood. Zell gulped. He'd neglected to check the previous floor for another like it. Disguised as he was, it was no cause for concern just yet. All he could do was act natural, and keep moving.
They continued up for another two floors. Both had a camera in exactly the same spot, but otherwise, there were no sentries about. It was on the 11th floor that they finally ran across two more moombas; both bolted around the shaft's circumference on all fours towards the stairs. Zell's moomba squeaked in surprise, rushing past him to meet its brethren. The pair halted in their tracks as it began communicating with them in a string of animalistic vocalizations. One of the other two responded with a stranger sound, still.
"Laguna!" it squeaked excitedly.
"Laguna?!" Zell's moomba repeated the strange phrase.
Suddenly, it turned and broke into a sprint up the next flight of stairs. The other two were hot on its tail.
"Hey, wait!" Zell called out. He tore up the steps after them.
What was that about? Did he ask them where our weapons are?
He tailed the furry creatures higher and higher, until at last he came to a stop on the prison's 13th level. As opposed to each below, the spacious walkway around the silo's top-most floor spanned only a half-circle. A massive industrial crane arm sat on the edge of the shaft. Upon his team's entrance, it had reached out over the center. Now, it clasped onto a small hexagonal cell, docked within a perfectly sized divot further along. A glass-paned control room stood on the opposite wall beside the spiral staircase leading to the upper levels. In the space between, a frenzied uprising was in progress. Roughly a dozen moombas dog-piled onto a pair of hopelessly overwhelmed soldiers. Still more raced through the open metal door directly behind.
"Damn it all!" the commanding officer in red swore as he struggled. "What's going on with these stupid fur-balls?!"
"I-I don't know, Maj-, er Lieutenant Biggs," the second stammered. "I don't remember ever hearing about… these things throwing a revolt!"
Zell looked on with equal parts confusion and amusement.
"Hey, you!" Biggs roared to him. "What the hell are you doing just standing around?! Get in there, and raise the alarm! Now!"
He took off around the ensuing chaos, and rushed into the control room as commanded. Numerous screens hovered over the interior control console, all displaying live footage from the cameras on each level. A feeling of pride and accomplishment welled up in his chest the moment he laid eyes on the neighboring desk. Various weapons and accessories lay neatly arranged atop. Among them were a sheathed longsword with a hilt resembling a revolver, a coiled metal whip, two severed halves of a large red and gold nunchaku, three silver spheres grouped together with a peculiar bronze fourth, several belts, watches, and wallets, a gleaming silver pendant and ring each with a lion engraved on them, and most immediately applicable, a pair of studded fighting gloves.
Jackpot!
He quickly removed his uniform's plain black gloves, and slipped on the familiar leather. With the Odine Bangles still fixed to his wrists under his sleeves, his GF would be of no use. He would have to count on the moombas to even the odds. With a quick breath in through his nose, he charged back out and into the fray.
"I told you to sound the alarm!" Biggs chastised him, still overcome by the riot. "Get back in there now, or I'll have your pay docked for the next month!"
"Looks like your arm's healed since Dollet," Zell smirked.
He whipped off his helmet. Biggs' mouth fell open; he froze in place, standing still as a statue even as the moombas continued clawing at him from all sides.
"Now, let's have a crack at the other one!"