The Ties That Bind Us

The Flight

"We don't need your running commentary, Hannibal," Stiles snapped. "And don't use the word rescue. It makes it sound like you're some wrongfully imprisoned hero."

Gerard arched an eyebrow, like he believed that might indeed be the case.

"We have to go. Now," Isaac said. Stiles looked at him. He didn't look so good. Stiles nodded and Isaac turned to Wes. "Take us to the room where they monitor all security footage."

Wes immediately began to leave the room. Stiles's adrenaline was running high now, and he was anxious to finish all of this and get them out of here. Through the bond, he sensed Scott's nervousness as he put a hand over Gerard's shoulder and urged him forward. The stark realization of who he was and what they were doing was creeping up on him. Stiles wished he could comfort him, but there was no time.

They followed the guardian through more halls and security checkpoints. The route he led them on went around the prison's edge, not through the cells. Stiles held his breath almost the entire time, terrified they would run into someone. Too many other factors were working against them—they didn't need that, too. Their luck held, though, and they ran into no one-again probably a result of doing this during daylight and not passing through a high-security zone.

When Wes led them into the prison's surveillance room, Stiles couldn't help a small gasp. Monitors covered the walls, and consoles with complex buttons and switches sat in front of them. Computer-covered desks were everywhere. Stiles felt like this room had the power to blast off into space. Everything in the prison was in view: each cell, several halls, and even the warden's office where the two guardians were standing in the spot Isaac had left them.

Two other guardians were in here, and Stiles wondered if they had seen them in the halls. But no—they were too fixated on something else: a camera that had been turned to face a blank wall. It was the one Stiles had adjusted in the feeding room. They were leaning toward it, and one of them was saying how they should call someone to check down there. Before they looked up and noticed them, Scott and Stiles each grabbed another of the five syringes and used it to knock them out.

Now that they were left to themselves, Isaac knew the next step. "Wes, disable all the cameras and erase the last hour's worth of footage," he ordered.

There was a greater hesitation on Wes's part this time. Isaac was keeping his control but growing weary, and it was only going to get harder making Wes obey his commands.

"Do it," he growled.

One by one, the monitors went black, and then Wes typed in a few commands on the computer that stored digital footage from the cameras. Red error lights were flashing on the consoles, but there was no one here now to fix them.

"Even if he erases it, there are those who might be able to recover it from the hard drive," Gerard pointed out, voice bored.

"It's a chance we'll have to take," Stiles said irritably. "Reprogramming or whatever isn't really in my skill set."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Perhaps, Stiles, but destruction certainly is."

It took Stiles a moment to get what he meant. He noticed Gerard's eyes continually shifting toward one of the walls. It had a fire extinguisher, a light switch, and a round silver button. With a sigh, Stiles grabbed the fire extinguisher and beat the computer to a pulp until it was nothing more than a pile of plastic and metal fragments. Scott winced at each blow and kept glancing at the door.

"I hope that's soundproof," he muttered.

"It looks sturdy," Stiles said confidently. "And now it's time to go."