While they waited, Stiles turned the room's camera ever so slightly, so it no longer could see the bulk of the room. Naturally, they would have to deal with the prison's entire surveillance system before they left, but for now, they needed no watching security personnel to catch sight of what was about to happen.
Stiles had just settled against one of the walls when the door opened. Isaac was promptly waiting by the door and quickly found his way into the two guardians' heads. Gerard Argent, the prisoner they were bringing, never looked so surprised then when his eyes settled on Scott. The same distress Scott had felt when seeing Gerard at his trial shot up within him. His heart rate increased and his hands started to sweat as he remember every little thing this man had done to hurt him—including the murder of his parents.
Forcibly, Scott tried to shove his fear out of his mind. He didn't really need that though. The sickness that had plagued Gerard for years was obviously getting the best of him. Lack of exercise and fresh air appeared to have taken a toll too, as had the limited food supply prisoners were supposedly given. The guards had him clad in shackles as an extra precaution, and the heavy weight dragged him down, almost making him shuffle.
Gerard was frozen on the spot, his eyes wide. After a minute or so of complete silence, the cunning sharpness that so characterized him, the shrewd intellect Stiles knew well, snapped into place. But he was confused. He searched the room, looking from Scott to Isaac, until he found Stiles. A slow, intrigued smile spread over his face. "Oh my," he whispered. "This might be the best meal I've ever had."
"If you want any chance of getting out of here," Stiles murmured, voice just as quiet, "you'll do exactly what I say."
Gerard Argent was not a stupid man. Others might have hesitated or asked more questions. He did not. He might not know exactly what was going on, but he sensed that this was a shot at freedom. Possibly the only one he would ever get. He was someone who had spent a large part of his life masterminding complicated plots, so he was a pro at slipping right into them.
Stiles took a deep breath, dreading what he had to say next. "Scott," he called. "Drop 'em."
Ready, Scott opened his backpack and brought out the syringes with the tranquilizer Stiles had bought. Of the five, he used two on the new guards that, almost immediately, dropped to the ground, unconscious.
"Alright, let's move," Stiles said, moving fast. "Get the key from him."
Scott frisked the guardian's unconscious body and retrieved the key for the shackles. He handed it to Stiles who turned his full attention on Gerard. He was quietly observing them while all sorts of new possibilities undoubtedly formed in his twisted mind. Stiles approached and put on his scary-face as he held up the key.
"I'm going to unlock your cuffs now," he told him, in a voice both sweet and menacing. "You're going to do exactly what we tell you to do. You're not going to run, start a fight, or in any way interfere with our plans."
"Oh?" Gerard said. "Isn't your friend over there," he gestured to Isaac, "the encantado of the group? Are you using compulsion now too, Stiles?"
"I don't need it." Stiles unlocked the shackles. "And I don't need sedatives either. I will knock you out with my fists and drag you out of here if that's what I have to do. But you will come quietly."
The heavy cuffs and chains fell to the floor. That sly, smug look stayed on Gerard's face, but his hands gently touched each wrist. Stiles noticed then that there were welts and bruises on them. Those shackles weren't meant for comfort. Gerard glanced back up at them.
"How charming," he mused. "Out of all the people who would attempt to rescue me, I never would have expected you... and yet, in retrospect, you're probably the most capable."
"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."
Isaac ordered Wes to return them to the warden's office at the front of the prison. He complied, leading them back through the maze they had gone through earlier. His codes and security card got them through each checkpoint.
"I don't suppose you can compel him into letting us walk out?" Scott asked Isaac.
Isaac's mouth was set in a grim line. He shook his head. "I don't even know how much longer I can hold him," he admitted. " I've never used someone as a puppet before."
"It's okay," Stiles said, trying to reassure them. "We're almost done with this."
But they were going to have another fight on their hands.
Stiles had lost his bearings from the blueprint, but it turned out that Wes's route back to the main office was taking them through a block of cells after all. Another sign read overhead WARNING—NOW ENTERING PRISONER AREA (PSYCHIATRIC).
"Psychiatric?" Stiles asked in surprise.
"Of course," Gerard said with a smile. "Where else do you think they send prisoners with mental problems?"
"To hospitals," Stiles responded, holding back a joke about all criminals having mental problems.
"Well, that's not always—"
"Stop!" A voice ran through the corridor. They glanced back to find a guardian staring at them. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked, but as his eyes fell on Gerard he understood what was going on. He reached for his walkie talkie and Stiles leapt up and attacked him. He punched the man hard enough that he lost his grip on the walkie-talkie, which fell to the floor near Scott's feet. The guardian was big and formidable, and didn't hold back. A blow to Stiles's shoulder sent shooting pain through his arm, and Stiles responded with a swift knee in his stomach. He had to end this fast, not only for his own sake but also because the noise would undoubtedly call attention to them.
Stiles grabbed the guardian and pushed him as hard as he could into a wall-headfirst. He staggered, dazed, and Stiles did it again, but the guardian wouldn't pass out.
"I can't knock him out!" Stiles called to the others.
"Go to sleep," Isaac barked. "Right there. You're exhausted and will sleep for hours."
Stiles threw himself at the guardian using his full weight to get him within Isaac's line of sight. Isaac pushed his way into the fight. The guardian glanced at him in surprise, and that was all he needed.
"Stop!"
The guardian didn't respond as quickly as Wes, but he did hesitate. This guy was very resistant.
"Stop fighting!" Isaac repeated more forcefully, intensifying his will.
Strong or not, the guardian couldn't stand against that much mind-control. His arms fell to his sides, and he stopped wrestling Stiles. Stiles stepped back to catch his breath.
"I can't do this much longer," Isaac told them, his voice was cracking, his breathing was superficial.
Stiles nodded. "I know. We need to get out of there right now."
They finally reached the office without further incident, though Stiles's heart pounded furiously the entire way as his brain kept telling him, Go! Go! Go! The first two guardians were still there, backs against the wall as Isaac had instructed them, eyes blank. Stiles was starting to think they had done it when Isaac slumped against the wall, breathing hard, and the three guards broke out of the compulsion and began fighting against them.
Scott quickly got one of them in a choke hold that efficiently knocked him out. Stiles also jumped into the fray, fighting the other guardian, but Wes ran to the wall where Stiles discovered—too late—there was another silver alarm button. Wes slammed his fist against it, and a piercing wail filled the air.
The trickster started to laugh, so loud that it was everything Stiles's could hear.
Isaac let himself fall to the ground, exhausted and Gerard skills weren't in physical fighting. It was all on Stiles and Scott to finish these last two—and they had to do it fast. The second of the guardians went down, and then it was just them and Wes. He got a good hit in on Stiles—one that knocked his head against the wall. It wasn't good enough to make Stiles pass out, but the world spun and black and white spots danced before his eyes. It froze him up for a moment, but then Scott was on him, on his werewolf form, and Wes was soon no longer a threat.
Scott took Stiles's arm to steady him, and Gerard helped Isaac up. Then the four of them immediately ran out of the room. Stiles glanced back at the unconscious bodies, hating himself for it. There was no time for guilt, though. They had to get out. Now. Every guardian in this prison would be here in less than a minute.
The group ran to the front doors, only to discover them locked from the inside. Scott told them to wait. He ran back to Wes's office and returned with one of the security cards that Wes had often swiped at the doors. Sure enough, this one let them out, and they made a mad dash for the rental car. They piled in, and Stiles was glad Gerard was helping Isaac. It was the least he could do really.
Scott stepped on the gas and headed back toward the way they had come in. Stiles sat beside him in the front. "I guarantee the gate guy's going to know about the alarm," he warned.
"Yup," Scott agreed, face hard. Sure enough, the guardian stepped out of his gatehouse, arms waving.
"Is that a gun?" Stiles exclaimed.
"I'm not stopping to find out." Scott pushed hard on the gas, and when the guardian realized they were coming through regardless, he jumped out of the way. They crashed through the wooden arm that blocked the road, leaving it a mess of splinters.
Behind them, Stiles heard the sounds of gunshots. Scott swore, but as they sped away, the shots grew fainter, and soon, they were out of range. He exhaled.
"They're going to send people after us," Gerard said from the backseat. "Trucks are probably leaving right now."
"You don't think we guessed that?" Stiles snapped. He knew Gerard was trying to be helpful, but he was the last person Stiles wanted to hear from at the moment. Even as he spoke, he peered back and saw the dark shapes of two vehicles speeding down the road after them. They were gaining quickly, leaving no question that the SUVs would soon catch up to their little compact car.
Stiles looked at their GPS. "We need to turn soon," he warned Scott.
They had mapped out an escape route beforehand, one that took lots and lots of twisty turns on these remote back roads. Fortunately, there were a lot of them. Scott made a hard left and then almost an immediate right. Still, the pursuing vehicles stayed with them in the rearview mirror. It wasn't until a few turns later that the road behind them stayed clear.
Tense silence filled the car as they waited for the guardians to catch up. They didn't. They had made too many confusing turns, but it took nearly ten minutes for Stiles to accept that they might have actually pulled this off.
"I think we lost them," Scott said, the wonder in his voice matching Stiles's feelings. His face was still lined with worry, his hands gripping the wheel hard.
"We won't lose them until we clear Fairbanks," Stiles said. "I'm sure they'll search it, and it's not that big."
"Where are we going?" Gerard asked, voice amused. "If I'm allowed to ask."
Stiles squirmed around in his seat so that he could look him in the eye. "That's what you're going to tell us," he said. "As hard as it is to believe, we didn't do all that just because we missed your pleasant company."
"That is hard to believe."
Stiles narrowed his eyes. "We want to find your son," he said. "Gabriel Valack." He had the satisfaction of momentarily catching Gerard off guard. Then his sly look returned.
"Of course," he said with a chuckle. "This is a follow-up to Dia Genim's request, isn't it? I should have known she wouldn't take no for an answer. Of course, I never would have guessed you were in league with the likes of her."
Since Gerard didn't know Stiles was actually in the familial league with Dia, Stiles decided not to enlighten him. "Irrelevant," he said coldly. "Now, you're going to take us to Valack. So where is he?"
"You forget, Stiles," Gerard said. "You aren't the one with compulsion here."
"No, but I am the one who can tie you up by the side of the road and make an anonymous call back to the prison with your whereabouts."
"How do I know you won't get what you want from me and then turn me back in anyway?" Gerard asked. "I have no reason to trust you."
"You're right," Stiles said. "I sure as hell wouldn't trust me. But if things work out, there's a chance we might let you go afterward." That was a big lie. "Is this something you want to gamble on? You'll never get another opportunity like this, and you know it."
Gerard had no witty quip for that.
"So," Stiles went on, "are you going to take us to him or not?"
Thoughts he couldn't read churned behind Gerard's eyes. No doubt he was scheming about how he could work this to his advantage, probably figuring out how to escape them before they even reached Valack. It was what Stiles would have done.
"Las Vegas," Gerard said at last. "We go to Vegas."