Now he just had to escape. Unlike his brother, he had memorized these trap locations, and though he hadn’t been quick before. He was confident he could evade them properly now that he wasn’t being pursued. He tended to his wounds, first, however. It was very nice of his brother to have carried a medical kit with him. While he didn’t trust the actual healing solution, paranoid that the bemicytes might actually be poison, he did use the staples to get his torn wings aligned. They would heal quickly, as would the rest of him, after he removed all the blade fragments.
–
What felt like half of his blood later, he was ready to engage his first trap. There were three before the elevator. He wanted to leave before the guards on the upper floor realized that the Prince was dead. He didn’t really want to deal with all the political fallout this would cause. All the stories and conjectures. Fawkes wasn’t sure what rumours Deyloras had already spread, and who else he had working for him.
The first trap was mercifully slow, and would have spared Fawkes even had he not lunged through it at the right angle. The second one was quick, but easy to pass between, so long as you knew where the blades would come from.
His ears perked at the sound of an elevator door opening. Someone was coming. He readied himself for this final lunge through this final trap, but first he waited.
Patience, patience. Fawkes had to work hard to control himself. His body had lost a lot of blood, and his natural instincts were attempting to override those he had gained through experience.
It was a large Arctic guard, his body dark blue with aquamarine stripes. He was surprised to see what was left of his employer several traps down. “You killed him? You killed the Prince of the Vorchan Empire?”
“Well, he sort of killed himself…” Fawkes said, trying to stand, but realizing it was getting extremely difficult.
The guard tapped a button on his collar, and proceeded to walk past the trap. “Come with me.” he said, lifting Fawkes over his back.
“No… this is not a good idea. Stop… stop…” Fawkes complained. His will was difficult to harness, especially with the perceived security of another Vorchan.
The trap activated, impaling the guard and pressing them against the corner of the wall. As the spikes retracted, Fawkes rolled clear, fearing he would trigger them again. The guard was still alive.
“But I de-activated them.” the guard said. One of the spikes had actually snapped as it hit his armour plate, the other had hit an artery. But he would live. Vorchans were very resilient.
“My death will be their only de-activation. I have to get out of here. Can you help me?” Fawkes asked.
“I recognize you.” the guard said.
“Indeed. He felt his throne threatened.” Fawkes said, feeling the need to explain.
“Will the trap?”
“No.” Fawkes shook his head, taking a few steps back.
The Arctic slowly picked himself up, bracing himself for another activation. There was nothing.
“What’s your name?” Fawkes asked.
“Leoven.” the guard replied.
“Well… Leoven. What do you know of the floors above me? And will the other guards be as friendly as you?”
Leoven grunted, staunching his wound with the medical kit he had around his collar. “Perhaps. I do not know how many would be loyal to the Paranoid Prince through death. Nor am I aware of the other systems he may have in place to ensure your demise, were he to fail here.”
The Paranoid Prince, ha. “Did you know I was here?” Fawkes asked.
“I was never told, personally. But rumour did spread, regardless of how hard he had tried otherwise.”
“Well, let’s go…” Fawkes said, making his way to the elevator. He would have time to ask questions later.
“Wait.” Leoven said.
Fawkes felt the supreme coldness of a medical salve.
“It could be poison!” Fawkes cried.
“This is my own medical kit. I would never rely on government issue.” Leoven reassured him.
Fawkes sighed in relief as he felt the concentrated bemicytes working their magic. “Oh that is nice.” The biomechanoid cells were already mending and disinfecting. “Let’s go.”
They entered the elevator. Leoven showed the machine his credentials, asking for the main entrance.
The elevator started to move.
And no spikes came out of the ground.
–
With the small metal elevator slowly elevating, Fawkes finally had time to take a breath and talk about things. “So… jailguard, eh?”
“It gets you by.” Leoven said.
“Hmm…” Fawkes said, nodding understandingly. Ever since Flames, he had never been forced to work for anyone. When he took contracts it was for extra niceties or simply out of boredom. They had been taking contracts for as long as he remembered.
“Especially this facility. Very high paying, and rarely has any traffic either…” He paused for a moment, looking up at the ceiling, blue ears perked. “What’s that sound?”
“I hear it too.” Fawkes said, trying to localize the sound.
“Gas.” they both said said, holding their breaths.
The elevator was moving very slowly. It hadn’t flicked past a sub-level for quite a while, though that could just be the stress of the gas slowing everything down.
They looked at each other for a while, neither wanting to really share in the realization that the elevator had, in fact, stopped.
Leoven pointed up with his wing-spar, bracing himself.
Fawkes shook his head, but lunged when Leoven did. Their horns bashed against the metal plating on the ceiling. Fawkes cursed from the pain, wasting precious oxygen. He started to panic, he had no reserve left now, he was going to die! He clawed at the walls desperately.
Leoven looked at him piteously, staying silent, most likely to keep himself from making the same mistake. What difference would it make? They would both ultimately die here. This was so embarrassing.
Fawkes finally gave up, and gulped in some of the poison air. To his surprise, he didn’t keel over and start dying.
“The gas dissipated from that hole we made in the ceiling.” Leoven said, pointing up at the gash.
“Why didn’t you tell me!” Fawkes growled.
“Well I didn’t want to be the one to test that theory.” Leoven said innocently.
Fawkes looked away, sufficiently annoyed by this Arctic.
“We need to find a way to get this elevator moving.” Leoven said.
“Or break free of it.” Fawkes suggested, getting on his hind legs and pulling the gash wider. The metal was sharp, but couldn’t really penetrate his scales. Leoven helped make the exit bigger, pulling back the aluminum as it if were some cheap tin can of lobster. Oh how Fawkes missed lobster.
They were perched up on the edge of the elevator now. Their tails curled around the thick wire for support.
“Look what they did!” Fawkes whined, bringing his tail up for inspection: four spikes on the left side. Three spikes on the right. It made his tail look so deformed.
“What did they do?” Leoven asked, not noticing.
“The spikes! The blades got one!” Fawkes felt the need to insist, hoping Leoven would somehow share in this personal misery of his. He really liked his tail spikes.
“Hmm…” Leoven nodded, but didn’t say much else about the tail spikes, focusing his attention up above them. “Too tight of a corridor to fly. Do you think he set up traps in here?” Leoven asked.
“I don’t remember there being traps in the elevator corridor. We should be fine.” Fawkes said.
“Alright.” Leoven said with a sceptical laugh. “You first.”
“I had to take the breath, remember?” Fawkes said.
“Yes well I’m not bleeding all over the place and half-dead already.” Leoven said.
“Do you want to be?” Fawkes asked with a growl.
So Leoven went first. They made it all the way to the main floor with no difficulties, save for the difficulty of two large Vorchans having to claw their way up a dark dank elevator conduit.
“Now what?” Leoven asked.
“Now we peek.” Fawkes said, carefully prying the doors open with his talons. Just enough to make out the muzzles of three exosuit-laden guards. He gingerly closed the doors again.
“Do your suits have HF sensors?” Fawkes asked calmly.
“High Frequency? Err… yeah.”
“Jump.” Fawkes said, pushing himself off the ledge.
Gauss rounds were extremely loud in tight corridors, and it was all Fawkes heard for several seconds, before Leoven fell on him.
“Are you alright?” Fawkes asked.
“It seems the Paranoid Prince still has followers.” Leoven observed.
The doors far above opened, and they could see the silhouettes of Vorchans looking down at them. It wouldn’t be long before they fired their weapons.
“We have to move.” Leoven insisted, “Through these tunnels. We can fit.”
“No. Ventilation shafts are trapped.” Fawkes said.
“Well we’ve got no choice. We have to go!” Leoven said.
They caught the glint of a laser beam as the gauss guns aligned themselves with their area.
“Grrr…” Fawkes jumped into the ventilation shafts, followed closely by Leoven, the concussive blast of the gauss rounds hitting the lower floor knocking them forward. They lost their footing and started to fall down and down the shaft.
They landed in filth, disgusting filth.
“Ack, eugh…” Leoven was trying to get the stuff off his wings, but it was sticking. “I thought you said… bleh… that this was the ventilation shaft?”
“Phew… I’m glad it wasn’t.” Fawkes said, relieved. “We’re in a compression chamber.”
“A what?”
The walls started to close around them, and the temperature started to rise.
“It compresses the—“
“Yeah I figured, Fawkes, thanks. Let’s go!” Leoven was already clawing his way up the chamber frantically.
Fawkes watched him trying to find an escape route before getting blasted down by a fire nozzle. “Could have told me that was there.” Leoven growled.
“Could have told me the gas had cleared!” Fawkes reminded him, “This way.” Fawkes started to dig through the dirt and grime.
“Oh no…” Leoven said, reluctantly following suit.
Fawkes kept digging, some of the backwash splattering Leoven’s face.
“This is… so disgusting. In all my years of… augh. All the battles… the wars… disss..cuussss…ttiiinngg…”
Fawkes opened a maintenance grate and squeezed through. They were below the device now.
“Ack it smells in here. And what’s all this liquid. It smells like melted garbage.” Leoven whined.
“This is the fluid strainer. All the garbage gets compressed, and the liquid is strained out into the river.” Fawkes said.
“You seem to know your way around garbage compressors.” Leoven said.
“In my less… glorified days. I’ve had to make many an escape from places like this.” Fawkes said, trudging along the water, seemingly unphased by the dirt and grime.
They walked for a few more minutes. It was dark. Fawkes took a moment to use his flame breath to burn most of the garbage off of him, and to illuminate the torches that were along the walls.
“Oh… burning garbage… great. Thanks for that.” Leoven said, contemplating clawing his nose off.
“You said you fought battles? Wars?” Fawkes asked.
“Yes. I was in the Resistance. I served under Darwin.” The name was familiar.
When Fawkes didn’t say anything, he continued. “He was the one that started the whole rebellion. Got Raumens to not accept us as slaves anymore. He pulled us free of those undignified days.”
So Leoven was from Terra as well.
Fawkes nodded. “Those were dark days.” His mind flashed to Nyx’s dark body. What horrors had to happen for them to meet each other. Life was so strange.
“I know that look.” Leoven said. “Who was she?”
“A Blackwing. Beautiful Blackwing.” Fawkes said.
He spoke of Nyx their entire way to the river.
–