The two, furious Assistants swiftly get up and dart toward us. I try to undo myself from Gilbert's grip by pushing against him with my shoulder, while we both take the necessary steps to get the hell out of this exhibit hall. "Hey, dude," I hiss, "you can let go of me now."
"You do not wish to be carried?"
"No! Now release me and"—I fumble for the crowbar in my right hand, then cram it into his palm—"here," I say, "use it to lock both those doors together. You can't transform, but you can at least bend a little metal, right?"
Gilbert looks puzzled, however, he soon follows my suggestion regardless. "I will try my best, Sir," he mutters, and I can't help but wonder what the point of him calling me Sir is, since he's already called me Ian once.
I observe him fumble with the crowbar, in an awkward manner that makes it unbearable to just stand and watch him work, when I keep in mind that those Assistants could throw themselves at the entrance any moment now.
It's when I'm about to ask him to hurry up, that Gilbert finally finishes with locking the door.
He grabs my hand once more, then says, "Let's go." And yeah, I can't argue with that; even if I'm pissed off, I can yell at him later.
"Emergency exit?" I ask him, all the while hoping the ladder outside won't be rusted to a point where it cannot hold a person anymore.
Gilbert presents me with a curt nod.
We say no more. From then on out, it is only the sound of our hurried footsteps and heavy breaths that fill the minimal space between us.
A minute passes. I take a brief peek at the idiot robot's features. He seems a bit disappointed. I ask him why. "What's wrong?"
He bites his lip. "The parts..." Gilbert sighs. His fingers curl into fists. "I left... the suitcase behind."
His words make me snicker, then smile, as I hold up the object in question. "No, you didn't."
Gilbert's eyes widen. He gasps. "Ian! You—" He pauses. He brings a hand to his mouth. "Excuse me," Gilbert clears his throat. "I had meant to call you Sir, as I do with all my fellow clients, but I am afraid I got caught up in the moment and—"
"It's fine," I say. "Just call me Ian." He doesn't reply. I avert my gaze, then add, "I saved your ass and you saved mine countless times already, it's not like we're strangers at this point."
"Oh." He tilts his head. "We are not?"
I shrug. "Beats me. I've never had this many interactions with an Assistant before. Also, uh, I don't mean to interrupt our wholesome bonding experience and all, but remind me how much longer will it be until we reach that exit again?" I ask, between my rugged pants that get louder by the minute, for aside from sounding like a dying cat, the fact that I'm starting to see a myriad of dots in my vision is starting to worry me.
We arrive in front of a dead end. Gilbert frowns. He comes to a halt—as do I, once I realize he isn't moving anymore. "Gilbert?"
Gilbert holds up his palm before me. "Just a moment, please." He blinks, and those numbers from before, return to haunt the deep blue iris of his pupils.
I shift on my feet then gulp. Fuck, I hope nothing's wrong. Our surroundings don't seem to imply there could be a possible exit around here. It appears we've arrived into what could have been the museum's storage room instead.
I'm on the verge of bringing my attention back to Gilbert's figure, when I notice two shadows coming for us from behind him at full speed.
"Gilbert, hey!" I snap as I try to shake him out of his weird, robot-trance. "Gilbert," I hiss, "they got out! We have to run. Now!" Although I say this, I'm honestly not sure where we could escape to. This area is an entirely different place from what the map had implied it would be. "Gilbert, you have to wake up—"
Gilbert's eyes widen. The numbers dissipate and fade, away from the ocean that is his gaze. Judging from the panic sewn into his expression, it's probably safe to assume that the nerves eating away at my heart won't be leaving anytime soon. "Gilbert..." my voice is a warning, just as much as it is a question. "What exactly did you see?"
"It's wrong," he whispers. And I'm sure that if his face could have gone pale, it would have definitely done so a while ago.
"What is?" I shake his shoulders again. "Gilbert, what's wrong, what did—"
He stares into my eyes without blinking. His glare is filled with horror. "The map," Gilbert tells me. "The map is wrong."