A/N-This chapter took me so long to write . . . *insert dying noises here*. It's about the length of SIX of my usual chapters, so if you star one chapter in this book, please let it be this one. Thanks for your support!
~~~
Outskirts of Tusca, West Artena
Western Artenian Intelligence Agency Headquarters
2200 Hours
Kill him.
The two words jounced through Luke's brain as if one was battering his skull with a hammer. They jounced through all other thoughts and reasoning.
Words straight through the Agency's preparedness manual—a simple guide that gave agents short directives on every situation. Luke'd memorized the entirety of the two-hundred-page book—he knew exactly what to do in this situation.
As he stared at the shadow of Captain Collins, however, he couldn't move. "Are you okay?" Luke asked hesitatingly.
"I'm still alive," was the coarse reply before the captain burst into a round of coughing.
The anchors on his feet disappeared. Luke rushed forward, helping the captain sit up. In horror, he realized that he wasn't holding the muscular man he'd seen in Central Artena, but a skeleton—nothing but skin stretching over his bones. He wondered how the Captain was still alive.
It's all my fault.
"You need water!" Luke ran toward the door and slammed his hands against the steel, hoping someone would hear.
"There's no use. The guards won't respond. They don't care about us down here."
Luke kept pounding against the door, however, and his hands began to throb in pain. But he didn't stop. "They have to. I'm not moving until they do—"
"Luke." The captain's voice was calm but steely. "Listen to me. Making noise will do nothing but hurt you. Use your brain. We are powerless in here."
Despite his crazed mental state, Luke realized the captain was right. He slid down the door until he collided into a heap onto the floor. Tiny pinpricks of something cold slid down his face, and it took him a minute to realize what it was. Tears.
He was crying—a foreign emotion. The last time he'd done this was . . . well . . . when that happened. But it was in the past.
"It's all my fault," Luke sobbed. His voice was in a whisper, but in the hollow, cramped room, he knew that Collins could hear it. "Now we're both going to die in this hellhole because of an idiot like me."
His heart was in pieces, a strange fog clogging his mind. He felt lost. A shadow slowly wrapped around his body, and Luke wished that he had never been born. He was the bad guy—the person in movies, books, and comics who was there just to be killed.
"It's not your fault."
"Everything's my fault. I've turned into the bad guy. You can't possibly understand."
The captain's laugh was weak but mocking. "C'mere." When Luke didn't move, he motioned him forward.
Collins grasped onto Luke's hand. "The world doesn't revolve around you, boy."
Luke recoiled. He hadn't been expecting that. In retrospect, he didn't know what he was thinking. He had wanted a piece of advice, or even yelling.
But a critique . . . was stretching it.
Collins motioned for him to listen. "Y'know, I was quite like you when I was young . . ."
"So you murdered a ton of civilians in cold blood? What about wasting eleven years of your life on the wrong side of the world?"
". . . I had the same headstrong and stubborn attitude you're sporting right now. All for a girl . . ." The nostalgic look in his eyes made Luke focus on the conversation.
"She was the first person to catch my eye when I joined the East Artenian Agency. Beautiful, smart, and capable. I really wanted her attention, Luke." His tone turned dark. "As an agent, I only had one strategy in mind: violence. I broke the bones of her suitors, hoping I'd look strong. But all it did was horrify her into hating me. And soon after, I hated myself."
"But you realized your mistake, and now you're together?" Luke finished, rolling his eyes. He knew how these stories went.
"Well . . . no," Collins said awkwardly. "I'm still working on it. But you are too. What I'm trying to say is: we're humans. We can't change our past. But we can use it to influence our decisions in the future. It's never too late to change paths."
"Change paths, huh? That's nice and all, but it's going to be kind of hard when my brain isn't gonna be attached to my neck tomorrow—"
From outside came the sounds of shouting and gunfire. Then it went silent. Luke concluded that it must've been a big commotion—the soundproofing on the cell doors was no joke. "What was that?"
Collins grinned weakly. "That's your escape into your new life. A shared path."
Then the cell door exploded off its hinges.
~~~
Yellow. Orange. Some red. Luke felt like his five-year-old self again—in that burning house. Where he lost his family—his humanity.
He blinked. The cell door crashed down, crushing his memories. In the threshold were a dozen shadows.
"Captain!" the people rushed forward, and Luke recognized them as the soldiers under Collins' command. As prisoners, they probably had their belongings confiscated. But now they sported weapons—rifles, pistols, and even hand grenades.
"Good job with the escape, boys," Collins praised, then burst into another round of coughs.
A dwarf pushed past Luke to support the captain—Sergeant Zeke Laption. "Just relax, Captain." He pulled out a familiar-looking black box the size of Luke's palm. With the press of a button, a needle came out—and Laption stabbed it straight into Collins' thigh.
"What are you doing?!" Luke exclaimed when the captain started convulsing. He'd seen many die from poison—mostly his doing—so he should've been fine. But his stomach tightened at the thought of the Collins in pain.
The soldiers whirled around; in the dark light and their adrenaline, they hadn't detected his presence. Now Laption approached threateningly, snarling. "It's you, boy. Maybe it's fate. Boys, pummel him. But leave him alive. Barely."
Luke gulped as eleven soldiers turned on him. He'd probably win. But with no obstacles to hide behind and their weapons, it would be close.
"No!" The voice was stronger than ever, ringing off the stone walls. A strong hand gripped Laption's arm, and then Collins pulled himself to his feet. His face had returned to his normal brown complexion. "He's changed. He's on our side now."
"You said that last time," Laption accused.
"People make mistakes, okay?"
I can't tell if you're talking about me or yourself, Luke thought.
"We're accepting him," Collins ordered. And that was that. "What's the situation outside?"
"We've taken control. But . . . it's not going as planned."
"Tell me clearly."
"It's . . . better if you see it yourself." Laption ordered his solders to march out of the cell. He slipped out beside them.
Luke stayed by Collins' side as they escaped their confinement—but it didn't look like he needed any help. You would probably think it was kind of freaky. He was back to normal, taking strong steps and scanning the surroundings for threats. "What was in that syringe?"
"A prototype from our agency. A metabolic juice box."
"Impressive. How long does it last?"
"No clue. Here's hoping it's enough to get me out of here. Otherwise, you might have to carry me." Collins grinned, even though there was nothing funny in his statement.
They strode out of the cell and found half a dozen unconscious Wartenian guards strewn on the ground. Their equipment looked like a pack of jackals had raided them—vests had been pulled off, holders cut off their belts, and shoes stolen. Nearby stood twenty East Artenian soldiers wearing said equipment. Luke noticed their hostile glares, fighting the urge to talk back.
"That's certainly a problem," Collins commented. His tone was light, not matching their situation.
Luke followed his gaze to the front of the cramped hallway, where Laption was flanked by two allies. As he watched, they attempted to pull the vault door open, but no dice.
"Brute force won't work on those doors," Luke said as he approached, Collins right on his heels. "Have you searched the guards for their keycards?"
Laption glared at him, annoyed. "We've done that already—none of them carry keycards. If you really want to help, why don't you give us an ingenious solution out of here?" His tone was heavy with sarcasm.
Scarlett's strategies were always effective, Luke thought with a slight scowl. That was always why he thought twice before doubting his ex-girlfriend's words. But now, he could curse all he wanted to.
"Easy," Collins interjected. "We're all on the same side here. We're in enemy territory. We cannot have any strained bonds in our limited force."
"Sorry." Laption's tone was anything but regretful.
Luke still hadn't moved on, however. "You want me to make a strategy, right?"
"You have a plan?" Laption scoffed. "I'd like to hear it."
"I call it the 'free ride outta here.'" Luke pulled a keycard out of his pocket and swiped it on a sensor on the door.
"That's not going to work—"
Laption's words died in his throat as the vault door slipped open. From the hallway outside, they were met with the confused glances of two Wartenian guards. The last thing they'd expected was their prisoners to escape.
Collins' men leaped into action. Before the Wartenians could do anything, they swarmed the two guards, incapacitating and taking their gear.
Within moments, the way had been cleared.
Laption gaped at Luke, his mouth as wide as a dinner plate. "Ladies first," Luke encouraged with a flourish.
The sergeant was so shocked that he listened. As Collins passed, he laughed. "Where'd you get that little thing?"
"Stole it from a captain when I was initially captured."
"And . . . why didn't you use it earlier?"
"Er . . . I lost my mind for a second, okay?" Luke flushed in embarrassment. "It isn't easy being trapped in a stone cage."
"Captain," Laption interjected when Collins opened his mouth. "Why don't we escape first, then talk later."
"You're right. You men, go ahead and clear the path."
"What about us?" Luke asked. "Aren't we going with them?"
"We have something to do first." Collins winked at him.
~~~
Remind me to never listen to Collins again, Luke thought.
He raced through the glass-surrounded walls of the Agency on the heels of the captain. "Is this task of yours so important that we have to put ourselves in danger?"
Their strategy wasn't boding well for Luke's gut instinct: run until they see a bad guy. Then take them down. It was a matter of time before they got caught—but with her in the building, he didn't know if they were walking toward trouble.
Collins hadn't even broken a sweat—the energy syringe had done well. "You won't regret it. Besides, nothing's happened yet. And I assure you—"
Alarms blared. Over the loudspeaker, the pleasant voice had been replaced with a grating bass. 'Code Red, Code Red," it repeated.
Luke blanched. "Code Red" in the Agency was nothing to laugh at. It meant that an apocalyptic threat was impacting the headquarters in some way—all available personnel had to suit up to fight, using any means necessary. Luke and the other agents had made another nickname for the code:
Code Dead.
"We'll be fine," Collins reassured him, but there was a nervous tone hidden underneath the confidence. "We'll have to grab one thing, and then we're out. Quick and easy."
The radio on his belt crackled—taken from one of the defeated Wartenians. "Come in, Captain Collins." It was Laption.
Collins snapped the device off his belt, all while keeping his neck-breaking speed. "I'm here. What's going on? How many are hurt?"
"We're okay here," Laption said. "We're almost out of the Agency with minimum contact with the enemy. It looks like you drew the whole wasp's nest to your location."
Collins cursed, and Luke gave him a pointed glare. "Roger that. Give us five minutes, and we'll be out." The radio went silent.
"Five minutes?" Luke asked. "There's no way. We haven't even found the location yet!"
"Speak for yourself." Collins smiled at him, then skidded to a stop.
Luke almost crashed into him. "What the—"
Collins put a finger to his lip. Then, he grabbed the doorknob of a nearby door and pushed it open without a sound.
Luke edged forward, eager to slip out of the hallways. He felt much more secure—there were many entrances for threats to sneak up on him. The room was dark, but from the light spilling from the open doorway, he caught a glimpse of the mahogany floor and heard several fans whirring.
Then the attack came.
There were four Wartenians who'd been staked out in the darkness. Two pairs of arms grabbed onto Luke, restraining him before he could react.
"Let go of me!" Collins roared as the two others incapacitated him. They were hulking brutes that towered over the captain.
"Where'd you guys even come from?" Luke asked. "Did you spawn from the dark or something?"
One of Luke's captors pulled out a radio, ignoring him. "We've captured the threats," he said into it. "Room B-11. Requesting backup."
"Copy that," came a voice. "How many do you have?"
The guard exchanged a glance with his comrades. "I . . . was informed there were only two. And we've caught them."
In the darkness, Collins caught Luke's stare with a sharp flick of his head. Follow my lead, he mouthed.
Or he might've said, this is your fault. Luke squinted at him in confusion. He liked ignorance, though, so he pretended it was the former.
The operator came over the radio again, this time sounding way more confident. "Is one a small boy who looks weak? With black hair?"
"Hey!" Luke couldn't help himself. "I'm not that weak-looking."
His captor squeezed his neck in response.
". . . I'll take that as affirmative," the operator drawled. "Romeo Two, whatever you do, do not let him escape."
"What about the other lad?" the guard asked, aghast.
"These orders are from the top. Romeo Two, you better listen. Am I clear on that?"
The operator's voice was stern. But it soon dropped to one of worry when there wasn't any response. "Romeo Two? Are you there?"
He was there. Only, he was on the ground, unconscious. Because Collins and Luke had started to attack.
Rookie mistake, Luke thought disdainfully as his other captor gawked at the teen. He didn't see the punch headed his way until Luke upercutted him, sending him flying into a bookcase—which toppled to the ground with a loud smash.
"Hmph. Call me weak again, I dare you," Luke announced to no one in particular.
Meanwhile, on the other end of the room, Collins had brought both of his guards into a double headlock. "That energy syringe is working wonders!" he chuckled, then threw the limp bodies away from him.
Luke shuddered. I'm glad I'm no longer on his bad side.
"Romeo Two? This is not funny. Report to me this instance!"
Luke walked toward the radio, which had skittered close to the door—courtesy of Luke's judo flip. "Whoops." He pretended to stumble—then landed on the radio, smashing it to pieces.
Collins chuckled. He'd dragged the guards into a shadowy corner and now was observing the kid. "I never expected the infamous Royal One to act like . . . well, a teenager."
Luke stiffened, spinning around. "What are we waiting for, old man? Don't we have to get out of this compound?"
"Patience will do wonders on you, kid." Collins flicked on the lights. "Welcome to our ticket to thwarting the Wartenians' plans."
Luke blinked as the light blinded him. When his vision returned, however, he let out a disappointing breath.
Racks and racks of computer terminals lined the shelves, which were placed in neat intervals throughout the huge room, kind of like a library. The fans Luke'd been hearing were flanking each shelf, kind of like placing a lid on either side of a pipe segment. But, unlike a library, physical books were far and few between—to Luke's relief, his other captor had slammed into one of the only shelves holding physical records. Phew. At least I haven't destroyed the room—yet.
"Oh, come on!" Collins exclaimed, picking up on Luke's disappointment. "This room's worth millions of dollars, and only accessible to the select elite of the Western Agency. What more could you want?"
"It's . . . a bit more modernized than I was expecting. I thought we were going to interrogate one of the Wartenian Agency executives."
"Don't worry. I can make this a bit more fun." Collins walked to the other ends of the room, where several desktops, all of which were connected to the server room, were scattered on huge desks. "Last one to find the info has to ride on the roof of the escape car!"
What are you, five? Luke rolled his eyes. The silly tactic worked, however. He ran to his own computer station and booted up the machine. Fans whirred.
It was pretty rudimentary to get in. On the password screen, Luke tried 1234—The first password he could think of.
Huh, Luke thought when he was greeted with a welcome screen. One glance to the left showed that Collins had the same luck. A five-year-old could probably break into this system.
In retrospect, however, the West Agency probably thought they didn't need a password because, well, only authorized figures were allowed there. To get into the server room, you'd have to traverse across half of the compound—prime time to be captured. But not for Luke and Collins.
Within seconds, Luke had managed to navigate the files application. He blinked. There were so many folders that it took a good minute to scroll all the way down. Typical of a server room. Luke didn't even want to think about how many files were in each one. "So . . . what exactly are we looking for?"
"Some kind of communication to and from East Artena," came the cryptic answer. Collins had already started persuding through the files. "If it's here, it'll probably be hard to find."
Something struck Luke as odd. "Hold up. Instead of escaping to safety, we're here, risking our lives to find a code . . . and you're telling me that it's just a hunch?"
". . . more or less."
Before he could respond—or even think of an answer—footsteps sounded out in the hallway outside. Several people, running with purpose.
Luke and Collins shared a worried glance. "They'll pass by us," Collins assured him in a whisper.
Luke wasn't too sure. Trepidation swirled through his gut. Something was off about the room. He looked around—and then up at the higher corners of the room. There
He felt dumb as a steady red light stared back. A camera. Then he cursed.
"What's wrong?" Collins asked. He'd turned away from his computer.
"Got down!" Luke ordered, but it was too late.
Three bullets punched through the doorway, screaming toward Luke and Collins. One came so close that it sheared a line through his hair—then smashed through his computer monitor. Another thudded into a bookshelf. The third scraped Collins' left pink toe before gouging a hole in the floor.
They know we're here. Luke crawled, taking cover behind a bookshelf. Collins didn't trust the wooden frame, however. He lay on the floor as flat as possible—but with his hulking frame, he still took up a humongous amount of space.
"Don't tell me there's no other exit," Collins said. His voice was a little muffled, as he was face down.
"There's no other exit." Unlike Collins, Luke was busying himself. He searched through the bookshelves for something. After a minute, however, he becomes more frantic. Screw respecting the books. He ripped them from the bookshelves as fast as he could. His life was more valuable.
"You have a plan in mind? I hate to say it, kid, but you're my ticket out of here."
Luke rolled his eyes. "Every room in this building has a way to keep intruders out—which I'm searching for. You keep on looking for your dumb evidence."
"I . . . think I'll stay down here for a bit." Collins had no faith in Luke—and he couldn't blame him. Guns were unfair and deadly.
Finally! Luke sighed, not caring at what Collins preferred, as he found a small red button jutting out from the back corner of the lowest shelf. He dropped the books in his hands—Twelve Ways to Torture an East Artenian and Sixteen Ways to Identify an East Artenian. Luke rolled his eyes.
The door burst open, and six heavily armed West Agency agents barged into the room. They took stock fo the situation, then aimed at Luke's bookshelf—like they knew he was hiding behind it. Their fingers tensed on their triggers.
"You're gonna have to wait another day to kill me," Luke called as he pressed the red button. Almost immediately, a glass wall descended from the ceiling, bisecting the room. Luke and Collins were now seperated from the enemy—but the glass wall looked so delicate that even a toddler could shatter it.
At least, that's what the Wartenians thought. When Luke picked himslef up and walked into plain site, they opened fire. Twenty bullets streamed toward him.
"What are you doing?!" In the hail of resounding gunfire, Luke could barely hear his voice. "Dodge! Do whatever! You're not dying before me!"
Luke didn't move, though. He stood confidently, like nothing could defeat him. Twenty bullets streaked towards him—and twenty bullets crashed into the glass wall. But they didn't penetrate it. The bullets bounced off, and there were only a few fine spiderwebs of cracks. If Luke hadn't looked hard enough, he wouldn't have noticed anything amiss. Then a confident voice rang out.
"Don't even try to kill him. That glass could stop a tank shell. You're better off conserving your bullets—and your strength."
Luke groaned as the guards moved aside respectfully for a familiar lithe figure to enter. Her fiery red hair sent heat through his arteries, into the center of his body—stabbing into his heart. He really needed to get his emotions under control.
"Why so sad?" Scarlett asked, sounding genuinely offended. "You always loved seeing me, no matter what time of day it was."
"That was before I knew your true colors. You see, I don't look favorably upon betrayals."
"Look who's talking, traitor," Scarlett snarled. "Let's get down to business. Your friend. Where is he?"
Luke was flabbergasted. The Agency had predicted his every move—stationing guards in the server room, having the hundreds of cameras in the compund manned, and even gathering reinforcements. And they still failed to recognize that Collins was laying dow beside Luke—only a couple of yards away.
Hold on, Luke thought. I could use this to my advantage. He smirked. "You still haven't caught him yet? I was sure that someone would catch him when he insisted about escaping through the main gate. Looks like your 'modern-era' strategies aren't as perfect as you thought they were, Scarlett."
"Shut up!" she hissed. "Do you know how many days I sacrificed in the command center? The guard patrols are perfect. End of discussion."
"Y'know, you usually have to believe your own words first before trying to convince the other party," Luke drawled out as Scarlett hesitated—then ordered her guards to check out the situation at the gate.
Three Wartenians immediately exited the room—they knew their commander could handle herself. Scarlett glared at him, and Luke barely prevented himself from flinching. Scarlett was a scary woman when she was mad—and Luke managed to stay on her good side.
Until now, that is.
Fortunately, Collins took advantage of the situation. As the agents funneled out, he leaped to his feet and raced to a computer—a different one, hidden behind a bookshelf. Give me five minutes, he mouthed to Luke, then crouched aggressively in front of the monitor.
Still, Luke moved to the right and leaned against the bookshelf—eliminating Scarlett and the agents' line of sight to anywhere near Collins. The Wartenians' guns followed his every move. Then he concentrated back onto the conversation.
". . . agents will get that darned captain," Scarlett was saying. She'd managed to collect herself, and now was that alluring, confident woman that Luke had fallen for years ago. "Now, why don't you surrender? You can't just stay in here. We'll find a way to get you out—no matter the cost."
"I'm quite comfortable here. I feel invincible, y'know?" His voice hardened. "Actually, you do know. You have a lot of experience—after manipulating many people onto your side."
Scarlett sighed. "Luke, stop with this. I've already told you—it was all business. Nothing personal."
"Nothing personal?" Luke asked coldly. "We were in a relationship. I loved you."
"I did too! And I still do. If you retract the glass wall right now, I'll let you join our agency again. No consequences—we'll forget that this ever happened."
Out of sight, Collins paused his perusion through the files. He looked at Luke, concerned. If the boy turned on him now . . . well, he wouldn't be able to do anything. It's all you, Luke.
"No." Luke's eyes burned with anger as he glared at Scarlett. "I'm done with the Agency. I'm done with you. I'm with the East Artenians now. Though you always like to pretend that they don't exist—that they're a bug you could crush at any time."
To the side, Collins paused. He couldn't afford the wasted time, as he hadn't found anything incriminating on the West Agency. He wondered if there was anything at all. But something about Luke's tone . . . made Collins think the boy was talking to him. So he clicked out of the file named East Artena to the West Artena one.
What the hell is this? Collins thought in disgust as he found a subfolder also named East Artena. Clicking through it, he shuddered at the thought of the Wartenians taking control over his homeland. My home would be stripped of its resources like the ones in Central Artena . . .
Within a matter of seconds, he found the document: A letter addressed to a Scarlett Livingston from a man named House—a codename. Collins scrolled down to find dozens more letters, all detailing information in cryptic ciphers. Each had an IP address in . . .
Looks like we have a lot of work to put in, Collins thought to himself. His brow furrowed, suspicious confirmed.
He pulled out the thumb drive from behind the computer, then mouthed to Luke, Let's go.
Before Luke could respond, however, Scarlett narrowed her eyes. "Why are you looking behind you so often?"
"You have a bunch of guns pointed at me. Of course I would be nervous."
This time, Scarlett didn't believe him. "Tell me right now."
Luke snorted. "You can't make me do anything—"
"What's up, captor?" Collins asked as he strode into plain sight.
There was a stunned silence. Scarlett looked at Collins as if she'd seen a ghost. "Weren't you just at the gate?"
"You believed Luke? I thought your first rule—according yo your guards—was to never trust an East Artenian."
"Luke's a Wartenian," Scarlett snarled.
"Hold on." While Scarlett was wrapping her head around Collins's appearance, Luke pulled the captain aside. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Why the hell did you show yourself? We're trying to be stealthy here!"
"I got the evidence. We now have to make a run for it—do you fathom any route that'll be stealthy?"
Luke had to give it to him—the old man had a point. "Fine. Do you have a plan, O Captain Stealth?" His voice was full of sarcasm.
Before Collins could respond, they heard a loud sound. Don't ask him how, but Luke knew it was the butt of rifles against glass before he could even turn around.
On the other side of the room, Scarlett ordered her guards to start attacking. Now that both enemies were in sight, she had full control over the situation. "That glass might stop a tank shell—but it's still weak to brute force."
Luke watched as the glass began to slowly shatter underneath the agents' powerful attacks. The wall between him and Scarlet—literally and figuratively—was beginning to break. And he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.
An arm gripped his shoulder, pulling Luke out of his thoughts. "Focus! I found a way out."
"Great!" Luke said with forced enthusiasm. "Let's get out of here . . . oh no."
Collins had jabbed a finger toward their escape route—and Luke had some questions.
"There has to be another way," Luke tried. "And . . . I'm allergic to dust."
"You're worried about a little dust when you're about to die?" Collins pushed Luke to the corner of the room, out of sight—but they could still hear Scarlett's yelling. "Don't worry. I can fashion an EpiPen while we're escaping."
Luke fell silent.
Collins dragged a chair under a metallic HVAC vent—their escape route. Luke didn't know how they could fit, but Collins looked at him expectantly, so he dutifully stepped forward. "Get on my shoulders before I kill you myself."
Luke leaped onto the chair as Collins cheered for him. Sure enough, he wasn't tall enough to simply vault into it. So the Collins clambered onto him.
Surprisingly, the captain wasn't that heavy. But with all that muscle, it took Luke all he had to not collapse.
Even worse, behind them, Luke heard glass pieces clitter to the ground, and then a shout of triumph. They were almost through.
"One minute," Collins said. "I just need one minute."
He squinted at the vent. It was locked with two flathead screws as if someone had tried their escape route in the past. Collins shook the thought off, then wedged his left pinky nail—filed into the shape of a screwdriver—into the screw head. He heaved a sigh of relief. It fit. Then he started unscrewing.
There was a crash, and Scarlett's guards broke the glass wall. Twenty seconds.
Two screws hit the tiled ground, then the vent cover followed. "I'm ready!" Collins announced. "Push me up!"
"Finally!" Luke gasped, sweat pouring down his face. He wiped some of it on the bottom of Collins' pants where they brushed across his face—after all, it was his fault—then jumped up, throwing Collins as hard as he could.
That's where everything went wrong.
You see, Collins was still a fully grown man. And Luke was only seventeen. The weight difference was noticeable as the captain slipped into the vent—albeit with a bit of difficulty. Luke planned to jump in after him, but he found himself imbalanced, windmilling his arms desperately—then fell off the chair.
Even worse, Collins didn't seem to notice. He crawled further through the vent—until he was hidden from Luke's view.
And then the guards came around the bookshelf. It only took a second for them to figure out where he was. Cruel smiles came over their faces as they aimed their guns at Luke, who was sprawled on the floor, defeated.
"Luke! Over here!" Collins hadn't abandoned the boy; he'd found an attaching vent a bit further down the HVAC pipe and had managed to turn around. Now, his upper body, covered with dust, hung out of the vent, arms outstretched to Luke.
It seemed impossible to cover that distance before the agents shot Luke. Any normal person wouldn't even try.
But Luke wasn't normal. He turned into a blur, vaulting onto the chair and jumping up to grab Collins' hands within a matter of moments. The agents had time only to shoot off a few bullets—none of them even close to hitting Luke—before the two prisoners crawled out of sight.
The guards looked at each other, sharing a glance of concern. Their equipment made them too wide to follow—and besides, no one was looking to spend their day crawling through the dusty HVAC vents. Miss Scarlett's going to be mad, they all thought.
~~~
Luke was not having a good day.
Seeing Scarlett had soured his mood. His former crush reminded him of all the things he'd done wrong and was trying to improve on. But . . . he still couldn't forget her beautiful hazel eyes.
Luek shook his head. Not the time to be thinking about an evil woman in that way. His head scraped the ceiling of the duct pipe he was currently sliding through—dislodging a huge pile of gray matter.
"Where's that dust allergy now?" Collins asked as Luke burst into a fit of coughing. The captain had turned around once again, so now they both were crawling forward. Luke had thought that it would be significantly better to not stare into someone's eyes as he was having a mental breakdown in the vents, but now . . . he wasn't so sure. Surely they didn't smell as bad as his feet.
"Screw you," Luke muttered, and Collins chuckled. "What did you even find?" he added.
Collin's tone was grim. "Something very important. It was worth risking our lives. Because—"
Collins' radio crackled. "Captain, come in. This is Laption."
"What is it?" Collins asked into the device, shooting Luke an apologetic glance.
"Change of plans. We were unable to procure a . . . er . . . standard escape vehicle. I apologize, but we have changed the rendevous point to the roof of the building in ten minutes."
"We'll be there."
The duct pipe suddenly widened, and vents lined the bottom of it, carrying the murmur of conversation. Collins wiped some dust off the nearest one and peered through it.
At the same time, Luke felt a slight twinge of annoyance. He'd risked his life, and wasn't even able to ask what all the effort was for. Why did I come back to save these guys?
Oh. Right. It was his fault they had been imprisoned in the first place.
Collins motioned for Luke to look through the vents as well. He did, and through the slivers of light, found a staircase below him. Jackpot.
"We need to make sure it's secure," Collins whispered, but it was too late.
Before he could react, Luke punched through the fragile vents and leaped down onto the landing.
Collins felt a little guilty. Is he mad at me? he wondered.
Meanwhile, Luke found himself in a precarious place—in the middle of a giant spiral stairway. Three agents stood at the top . . .
"Is everything okay there?" Three additional soldiers marched from the bottom—then stopped short when they saw Luke. The boy was cornered. And he still didn't have a weapon.
I'm not dying here, Luke thought as he leaped for the guards above him. For the guards, he turned into a blur, but Luke's movements were easy enough for him to follow. He vaulted over the back of one, and before they could turn around, Luke karate-chopped two in the neck. Both fell to the ground, unconscious.
The third guard unholstered his pistol—which was better at close range—and fired at Luke. The boy grabbed the guard's hand, twisting it painfully—the gun dropped to the ground, and the bullet hit the glass paneling of the hallway walls, completely shattering it.
There was a draft of cold air—then sirens filled the air. Immediately, the guards' radios buzzed with activity.
One moment, the guards were marching toward Luke, who had taken cover behind the stair wall, feeling dumb at getting into such a situation—and in the next, Collins dropped onto them from the ceiling.
"Take that!" Collins roared as two hundred pounds of his pure muscle squished the three agents to the floor. One attempted to stab him, but Collins merely pinned his arm and neck down until he grew limp.
Footsteps thudded up the stairway, and Luke found himself staring at the captain. Within the span of two minutes, they'd taken out six guards—as well as lost Scarlett and the others.
"We're not out of the chaos yet," Collins said, gesturing Luke to listen.
From outside, below the stairwell, and through doors, Luke heard the sounds of shouting and footsteps. Collins was right. Even if they were in a temporary safe zone, they still had to escape the compound.
"Let's go," Collins said, pulling Luke up. Then he charged up the staircase with Luke in tow.