Aetheral Space

Bruno del Sed was in the dark, waiting.

That was fine. He was used to waiting. He'd waited in one spot for a week straight once, nestled in an Apex tree, moving only to take what sustenance he could from the invincible plant's sap. He'd waited longer than that when the GID had caught him. Sometimes he wondered if he was still waiting for rescue in that interrogation room, twitching in the chair. Sometimes he wasn't sure that his whole life after that wasn't just a desperate hallucination, his mind scrambling away from the pain and fear.

Serena sent him a comforting pulse, lifting his spirits - just a little, but enough to count.

If this was a hallucination, she said. Don't you think it'd be less boring? Who hallucinates about waiting around in a stupid hatch?

Fair enough. She had a good point.

Bruno put a hand against the steel surface in front of him, pouring purple Aether into his fingers to give them strength enough to move without pain. The metal was still: he was in the same place, then. A little while back he'd felt his hiding place being moved - first by people, then by an elevator, then by people again.

One of the most important qualities for a spy was their sense of direction. It was something the UAP had drilled into him, Serena and the rest early on. The moment you arrived somewhere, you made a map of that place in your head, and you kept constant track of where you and everyone else was on that map.

Bruno smirked. He knew exactly where he was.

-

"Come again?" said Rikhail, face suddenly pale. He was speaking to the aide that had just walked in, who looked equally uncomfortable.

"Minister Goley, sir," the aide said, drumming her fingers against her script nervously. "He wants to speak to you - right away, he said."

"W-Well, did he say what it was about?"

The aide looked away. "Ah, no, sir."

"You didn't ask?!"

"It was a very … brief interaction, sir. He seemed very busy."

"Unbelievable," said Rikhail, wiping his brow. "Oh, why is this happening now?" He glanced at Skipper. "Crossland, get him on ice while I fend off Goley - and get me an update on Hadrien, damnit! Where the hell is Muzazi?!"

"Yes, sir," nodded Crossland. "I'll find out, sir."

Skipper tensed up. It would be just him and Crossland in the chamber for a little while, then. If he wanted to escape, now would be the time. How, though?

The drug they'd used to cloud his mind seemed to be wearing thin - he reckoned he could get off one good Heartbeat Shotgun at the.very most.

That was easier said than done - he could fire them anywhere he wanted out of his body, but he still needed to make some kind of gesture to direct the blast. Pointing was the most accurate, finger guns a little less so but much cooler-looking. The only limb he had that was capable of pointing was the arm strapped to the steel block behind him, so there was no way he was going to be able to use it.

Nothing else for it, then. It would hurt like hell, but he had no other choice.

"Well," said Crossland, as Rikhail trotted out of the room. "If there won't be any further interruptions -"

He turned to look again at Skipper, only to find the singed stump of a missing arm pointing at him. Just like the barrel of a shotgun.

"Now, hold on a second," Crossland said, very still, right before he went flying across the room.

He hit a table at the far end of the chamber and toppled over into a heap, clearly unconscious or worse. Skipper wasn't sure which he'd prefer: Crossland hadn't been especially unpleasant to him, but he got the feeling he would have liked to be. Skipper had always had a good sense for interrogators.

At any rate, Crossland wasn't moving, which meant that step one of Skipper's escape plan was a resounding success. The only snag was that he hadn't taken the time to work out what steps two or three would be, and he was fairly sure they would be making up the meat of the plan.

He was still strapped to a big steel block, and the drugs in his system were still circulating enough to make a second shot impossible for now. All he could really do was wait.

Oh well, Skipper sighed. At least I won't get frozen again.

-

Muzazi dropped the twitching Prescott to the ground with a scowl. He'd taken pity on the traitor and cauterized his leg, but that pity was quickly being replaced by rage - and he wasn't entirely sure of its source.

He'd been used, by Rikhail and Goley both. Hadrien wasn't a defector - he'd just been a convenient piece in their underhanded game. As had Muzazi: a sword that would cut whatever it was told to. That wouldn't doubt it's wielders in the least.

They had taken him lightly, thought of him as easy prey. It was irritating in the extreme. More than that, he felt humiliated. His hands shook with rage, his body instinctively responding in a way that his mind didn't quite understand.

Hadrien wasn't here - not surprising, now that Muzazi stopped and thought about it. The boy wasn't stupid. He'd have torn the tracking equipment out at the first opportunity, to lead his pursuers on a merry chase. A good strategy. Effective.

Muzazi had a strategy of his own in mind. He needed to ask the Lord Mayor some questions.

-

The Hyena danced down the hallway, humming the tune to a half-remembered song. He was out!

The day had started out shitty, lamentable, unkind, unpleasant and overall very poor - but in the last few minutes it had taken a sudden turn for the stupendous. He'd had his own escape in mind, of course, but to be released even earlier than he'd expected was a welcome treat - like biting into a cat skull and finding unexpected cake instead!

He'd have to thank those two who had released him somehow. He would still have to kill them afterwards - they'd seen him in a vulnerable position, after all - but he'd send them a fruit basket or something first. Would they like pineapple, or perhaps a fruit that less resembled a grenade would be better?

Oh, the possibilities were endless! Stupendous, splendid, salacious, spicy, sick! What a happy, happy day to be free to the world!

The building rumbled - an explosion from down below. The Hyena grinned: that was his breakout crew, without a doubt. He'd lost Guimo, which was a shame, but Ibrahim and the others were more than capable of busting him out of a place such as this. He had faith in his boys, his comrades, his companions thick and thin through dangers thick and thin. They wouldn't fail him - and if they did, they wouldn't live long after that.

As another explosion shook the Heart Building, the Hyena whooped, kicking his legs in the air. He needed to pay a visit to his piggie.

Time was short, after all, and pigs were born for the slaughter.

-

"You sure about that?" muttered Blaine as she and Dragan stalked through the hallways. "Letting him go?"

Dragan glanced back at her, rolling his eyes underneath his helmet. Expecting her to understand his tactics had been a little unfair, clearly, but she could at least pretend.

"He'll make a good distraction while we search for Skipper," he said. "Besides, if we're lucky, he might go and get shot in the head."

"Jeez, that's awful," Blaine said, but Dragan could have sworn he heard a barely suppressed laugh behind it. "You really hate that guy, don't you?"

Dragan hesitated uncomfortably as he checked the words on the doors they moved past. "It's not … him, specifically. It's just … people like him."

"Oh … you don't like Umbrants?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're taking me a little too literally. It's more like … you know, people who profit by - by, I don't know how to phrase it, making other people uglier? I hate them. To death."

Blaine cocked her head. "Isn't that what you do, though? You've been trying to take advantage of people since the second you landed here. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

He frowned. “That’s different.”

“How’s that different?”

“I only use people who are already ugly, but the Hyena makes people awful. It's different."

Blaine stopped for a moment, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed. "Well, how do you tell if someone's awful?"

"I just know."

"How?" Blaine was relentless.

Dragan hesitated. They really didn't have time for this, but the constant questioning was getting on his nerves. He didn't enjoy the sensation of being picked apart like a corpse in an autopsy.

"Most people are awful, in the end," he said quietly. "You just have to wait for them to show it."

There were a few precious moments of silence as they carried on down the corridor, checking doors, until Blaine spoke again. "You really think that?" she sounded distinctively pitying, and Dragan squeezed his good hand tight.

"I don't say things I don't mean," he replied tersely.

"That's not what Skipper said."

Dragan whirled around to face her, not even caring as his broken arm exploded with pain. "Well what does he know?!" he snapped. "And what do you know?! I'll tell you - yes, everyone's awful on the inside. That Hyena guys the worst, but everyone else would be just as bad if they got the chance! The only reason people seem good is because they don't think they can get away with being like that! Those are the choices - you're either cruel or a coward!"

Blaine was still. "You really think that?" she said again, quietly.

"Of course I do."

"You're wrong."

Dragan clenched his fist. "I'm what?"

"I said you're wrong."

The building shook again deep down below - no doubt the Hyena's escape plan was in progress. Red light shone through the windows as sunset came. This really had been a long day, and it seemed it was about to get longer.

"Like I said," Dragan muttered. "What do you know? You can say I'm wrong all you like, but if you don't have a reason-"

Blaine interrupted him. "I used to think exactly like that. That, that there was no hope, and that people just got worse and worse until they died. That this world just gave you no choice but to be like that."

"Well, it seems like you knew what you were talking about."

"No, I didn't!" said Blaine, taking a step forward. "I thought I did, but I was wrong! I was just angry, and I wanted to be angry. Skipper showed me that. Skipper showed me that people can be good, if you give them the chance."

Dragan faltered, hand resting on the door of the latest room in front of him. "Well…" he mumbled. "What do you know?" He'd been saying that a lot in the last few minutes.

He turned back towards the door - comparing it with the information they'd managed to grab from the Hyena's holding cell. This was the cell number for another priority prisoner.

"I'll show you," said Blaine from behind him.

"Hm?" Dragan didn't look back at her as he spoke, eager to force the conversation to an end. "Show me what?"

"That people can be good. That they're not what you think of them."

Dragan squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth in barely suppressed rage. Phantom hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing - an unwelcome memory. Half-remembered hateful eyes stared into his own from inside a memory.

She didn't know what she was talking about. All she was saying were pretty words that sounded nice but had no effect on reality.

"Fine," he muttered. "Do what you want."

The door opened.

-

The door opened.

Skipper looked up and whistled in excitement - the cavalry had finally arrived. "Good to see ya, kiddo!" he grinned.

Dragan Hadrien rolled his eyes.