Dusk had come far too quickly.
Even though he'd had several hours to prepare, Jett wasn't the least bit ready. He wanted to tell Mystery Man to turn the truck around and go back to the farmhouse. Or just slow the truck down so that Jett could throw himself out the passenger door without killing himself. Any option would work, as long as he didn't have to go through with this.
"You okay there?"
The voice sounded slightly amused or concerned; it was kind of hard to tell. Jett's nerves were already firing at max capacity and it took all his focus to not curl up into a ball in the seat and wail. He managed to glance over at the owner of the voice.
Mystery Man looked completely relaxed behind the driver's wheel. One hand rested lightly on the wheel, casually steering while the other tapped lazily on the gear shift. He looked over at Jett, brows lifted in question.
There were a hundred ways to answer that, all in a negative way, but Jett merely said, "Yeah."
"You sure?" Mystery Man stared at him, not even taking a precautionary glance at the road. "You look a little pale."
"I'm fine," Jett said, a little too quickly. It didn't sound convincing in the slightest. In truth, he felt awful. Not only did he feel a little lightheaded from the nerves, but he also felt a heavy discomfort in his gut. Nausea came and went in brief flashes, and he was already regretting that he had pigged out so much on the food Calli had brought. Especially that delicious milk - he should have saved at least half of it for later instead of devouring all of it.
"Nervous?" Mystery Man finally glanced at the road for a full half second.
Jett grimaced, then admitted it. "A bit."
Mystery Man actually chuckled, seemingly amused by the admission. "There's no need to be. If you're worried about being recognized, take another look at yourself. No one will be able to tell you're a flyer now."
Jett glanced down at his knees, which no longer wore the familiar, comforting white.
In order to hide his suit, he'd been given a blue plaid shirt and a pair of overalls. Both were a couple sizes too big, so they were baggy and hung on his small frame, but at least they hid the majority of his suit effectively. A red handkerchief wrapped around his neck covered the collar of his suit that the shirt couldn't, and a ball cap pulled low on his head helped obscure his face.
To complete his disguise, he'd removed the eye-catching white gloves and did his best to scuff his white boots with as much mud and dirt as possible. Now they looked like a dirty gray mess, but their unique design wouldn't fool anyone from Troit if they took a close enough look.
"Just relax. Everything will be fine. You'll see."
Easy for you to say. You're not the one breaking into a military prison. His stomach heaved, and Jett grimaced. He really was not feeling well. Wetting his lips, he leaned forward to snag a water bottle off the floor of the truck.
He drained half of it in one go, but he still felt somewhat thirsty. Sighing softly, he closed the cap and set it back on the floor. He was getting too anxious over this whole thing. Sure, it was risky, but if things went downhill, couldn't he just run away?
With that thought in mind, he managed to relax a little. Everything will be fine. If Mystery Man said so, then it must be true. A inner voice started mocking him, telling him he was being stupid. Jett very purposefully kicked that snarky little voice in the face and mentally ordered it to shut up.
Why make this difficult? He just had to get through this in one piece. After all he'd been through, how hard could it be?
A bitter laugh rose and he squashed it in his throat before it could escape. Once this was said and done, these people had to accept him, right? If he could rescue their man, then wouldn't that prove that he really was here to help? That he wasn't just another flyer of Troit?
He clung to that thought all the way to Mianka.
Mystery Man drove them deep into the heart of the city. Jett stared out the window with wide eyes, drinking in the sights. He'd been in this place before, but he'd never seen such a massive city at night.
Even though the skies had grown dark, the entire place was exploding with light. Everywhere he looked, different kinds of lights illuminated the streets, the sidewalks, even glittering all the way up the sides of 100 story buildings. It was almost brighter than it was during the daytime.
After about twenty minutes, Mystery Man drove them into an underground parking lot. He went down about three levels before pulling up to a single brown door set into the far wall.
"Well, this is the place." He turned off the car and pulled out the keys.
Jett looked around, a bit confused. "Here?" This didn't even remotely look like it was a Troit headquarters. All he saw was a bunch of randomly parked cars scattered throughout the concrete room.
Mystery Man chuckled. "Come on. Moxie's waiting inside." Seeing that Jett's blank face of complete non-understanding, he added, "your guide, remember? Moxie is the one who'll help you get into the Troit station."
"Oh. Right." At least he wouldn't be going into this alone. Hopefully this guide would be an experienced mercenary that was skilled in seven different kinds of unarmed combat and carried an entire armory in his back pocket. Because at this point, that was the only kind of guide that make Jett feel better.
He watched as Mystery Man left the keys on the driver seat, then followed him over to the brown door. In a lazy manner, Mystery Man lifted a hand and knocked five times against the door with his knuckles. When he noticed that Jett was watching closely, he winked.
"Secret password," he said.
Yeah, right. With a inward scoff, Jett crossed his arms in front of his chest. Now Mystery Man was just poking fun at him. Secret knocks? Ha. Those things only existed in stories. This was just -
Something clicked on the other side of the door before it suddenly swung outwards. A long cement hallway greeted them, dimly lit by a bare, flickering bulb hanging from the concrete ceiling.
"See?" Mystery Man grinned, clearly amused by the surprise all over Jett's face. "Ah, there's Moxie."
"Idiots." A low-pitched feminine voice came from within the hallway. "Get in here before anyone sees."
Jett peered into the hallway. He could barely make out a short person standing by the wall. She held a small flat tablet in one hand, which had a pale pink cord plugged into one end. The other end trailed up into her hood and ended in a small earbud which she wore in her right ear.
He blinked. This is ... Moxie?
A hand clapped onto Jett's shoulder as Mystery Man ushered him inside. "C'mon now, listen to the girl."
Shortly after, the heavy brown door swung shut with a dull thump, enclosing them in a gloomy hallway. Jett couldn't help himself; he looked back at the door anxiously. His palms were clammy and he could still feel his heart racing.
Whatever this place was, he had no idea. And he didn't really know these people at all. For all he knew, they were going to kidnap him and sell him off to Troit. Or the Kairg. Maybe they'd hold an auction and see how much they could get from the highest bidder.
"So this the flyer?" The girl's bored tone rescued Jett from the weird path his mind was starting to travel. He noticed that she'd stepped closer without him even realizing she'd moved. "Don't look like much."
Mystery Man just smiled. "Looks can be deceiving, Moxie. You of all people should know that."
"Pah." She made an annoyed sound, then sighed as if all the world's problems were laid hopelessly at her feet. "Whatever. Let's get this started before I die of boredom."
With a sharp movement, she tugged the hood down from her face and faced Jett squarely. While she looked him up and down with a critical eye, Jett tried not to stare at the two small studs that sat just beneath her bottom lip. With pale skin and bleached short hair, she sported an exotic look that Jett had never seen before.
"Well," she finally said after a short moment, "you look stupid."
Jett leaned back slightly, startled. "Um, what?"
"But at least you don't look like a flyer. As if a dumb-faced country boy like you could be one of them. So that's good." She reached up and tugged the earbud free from her ear. It was stuffed into the neck of her hoodie, but the cord still trailed down into the little gadget she carried.
"Will this work, then?" Mystery Man asked.
"Yeah, I guess." Moxie muttered, then waved a hand in a shoo-shoo manner. "You can go. I got this."
Mystery Man's lips quirked. "You sure? I don't mind-"
"Get out of here, old man. I don't need you." She scowled, then reached out and grabbed the front of Jett's overalls. She tugged sharply, nearly pulling Jett off his feet with a surprising strength. "Come, country boy. We got work to do."
Jett barely had the chance to give Mystery Man a deer-in-headlights glance before he was pulled deeper into the depths of the hallway.
~*RW*~
"Can you hear me?" Her voice sounded tinny through the uncomfortable earpiece she'd given him, and even though the sound was distorted slightly, he had no problem making out the mocking lilt it held.
After a half hour of rapid explanations and directions, during which he tried and failed to understand much of her plans, Moxie had clearly pegged him as an idiot. Now whenever she talked to him, it was like an annoyed parent haggling a very young child. There wasn't much he could do about it, however, as without her, he didn't have a chance at succeeding in this little rescue mission.
"Hey!" Her voice blasted his ear at a much higher volume. "Hey stupid! Quit jacking off in the corner and talk to me."
Jett flushed at her choice of words and hastily brought his wrist towards his face. "I can hear you fine!" For a second, he worried that the mic strapped to his arm didn't work, but then she responded with an irritated sigh.
"Oh, wonderful. Now, you're gonna do exactly as I say, right?"
His shoulders sagged. "Yeah." He rubbed at his eyes, trying to ease the throbbing ache behind them. The headache had only grown worse, and if he shifted his gaze too quickly or moved his head sharply, it brought about a wave of nauseating dizziness. It made him wonder if maybe he was getting sick or something, because even the worse case of nerves had never made him feel this crappy in the past.
"Very good. Walk to the end of the alley and turn right. Can you do that?"
Jett didn't bother answering her. He just started walking, a slow sort of shuffle while keeping his head lowered. With his low-class civilian attire, there wasn't much chance of drawing attention to himself, but it didn't hurt to be careful.
The end of the alley opened up into a well-lit side street. He paused for a second to check for any suspicious people. As it was in the middle of the night, there weren't many people around, especially on the side streets. A young couple stood under a flickering streetlamp, embracing each other and giggling softly. Across the road, an enormously fat man waddled along the sidewalk, appearing to be pulled forward by a tiny, rat-sized dog. It yipped energetically as it strained its leash, while the poor man panted along behind.
A small car drove past, temporarily blocking the sight of the man and his dog. Its headlights flashed across Jett's face, causing him to flinch back as nails seemed to stab through his eyes and into his brain. Inhaling sharply, he squeezed his eyes shut and wished that he was lying down in a comfy bed. Heck, even a prison bed would be welcome at this point.
Maybe he could ask the nice Troit people to arrest him, then give him a nice quiet dark place to sleep for a year. Sure, Jerrick and the others would probably be mad, but seriously, he would give his left foot for a bed right now.
The car disappeared around a distant corner and the young couple began to enthusiastically eat each other's faces. Watching them made him even more nauseated, so he hurriedly turned right and started walking down the sidewalk.
Moxie promptly congratulated him. "So he does know right from left. I was started to wonder if I'd have to explain that to you, too."
He said nothing. Instead, he chose to watch his feet, one foot stepping in front of the other. Left, right, left, right. How far do I have to go?
A short laugh burst into his ear. "You gonna ignore me, huh? Well, I don't care. As long as you do what I tell you, we're golden. Look up ahead. You should see a big intersection, with a set of traffic lights. You know, the things that turn pretty colors and tells cars when to go?"
Jett glanced up. He saw the place she was talking about a few blocks down. Right now, the lights were red and a single truck was sitting there. He lifted his wrist to his mouth. "I see it."
"Good, good. When you get there, go left and cross the street. If you hurry, you can make it just in time for the next red light. Geez, you're moving so slow. Hurry it up, will ya?"
The last thing he felt like doing was moving faster, but he did it anyway. Anything to appease her and make her leave him alone. He reached the intersection a few seconds before the red turned green, so rather than wait for the next cycle, he decided to sprint across.
That turned out to be a terrible mistake.
The sudden rush of movement had his stomach churning violently. A wave of dizziness slammed into him, and he barely had any warning before bile surged upwards. He staggered onto the sidewalk, lurched towards the nearest building, and vomited all over its nice brick wall.
Everything he'd eaten earlier came up in a chunky slurry, splashing against the wall and ground and splattering onto his boots. Eyes watering, he heaved a couple more times before his stomach had fully emptied itself.
"Urggh." He leaned against the wall and gazed at the disgusting mess with blurry vision. If the wall wasn't there to hold him at the moment, there was a pretty good chance that he'd just topple right over into it. Which would be gross.
Jett shakily wiped his mouth on his sleeve, wincing at the horrible aftertaste. Then he laid a hand against his own forehead. It didn't feel overly warm, but sure felt clammy.
Am I sick? How did I get sick? He was certain he had been perfectly fine a couple of hours ago. In fact, he'd happily eaten most of the food Calli had brought him. So how did he go from healthy to ill in such a short time?
A hint of suspicion whispered through his thoughts, but he quickly suppressed them. Impossible. No. He wasn't even going there.
"Hey, what's going on?" Moxie asked through the earpiece. "You've stopped. Did you stop to take a crap or what?"
Jett's jaw tightened, and he slowly straightened. He noticed a group of young girls walking towards him. They had slowed, staring at him with varying expressions of disgust. As he watched, they abruptly turned and hurried across the street before passing by on the other side. He overheard a "Eww, gross!" and a hushed "Did you see that?" which was followed by a overly loud "Drunk freak!" that was clearly directed at him.
"It's nothing," he muttered into his wrist mic. "Just passed a drunk who puked all over himself. That's all." Bracing himself against the wall with a hand, he started moving forwards. The world seemed to sway and dance around him with each step he took, but he focused his gaze on a distant sign post and doggedly pressed on.
"Did you stop to say hi? Quit wasting my time. Good news is that you're almost there. Watch for a chain link fence on your left. It's between two tall buildings, and there won't be any lights in the area thanks to some expert vandalism by yours truly." The pride in her voice was strong.
Jett staggered along, feeling more and more like a real drunk. He drew some attention, but fortunately, anyone nearby carefully avoided him.
It wasn't long before he spotted a street light with a broken bulb. Within its shadowed surroundings lay the fence that Moxie had mentioned. The fence was eight feet tall with barbed wire coiled across the top. It essentially blocked off access to a darkened passage that lay between the two buildings. As he stared at it, the enormity of what he was about to do started to sink in for the first time.
Thankfully, Moxie wasn't there to witness his legs shaking. Or his knees knocking against each other. Or the fact that he scrunched up his face and almost started to cry. Am I really this stupid?
"Looks like you're there," Moxie drawled. "All ya have to do is scale that fence, and then two more after it. There'll probably be some dudes patrolling the last one, so you might have to take them out. But from there, you can't miss the place. It'll be the giant one story building with all the lights and guards."
Jett's legs started to give way. He frantically clutched at the fence, barely managing to keep himself upright. Face pressed against the cold metal, he clung to the fence with the desperation of a madman.
"I hope you didn't forget the floor plan, because if you go the wrong way, you're gonna get screwed by an entire army of guards. Heh." There was an disturbingly odd laugh. It made Jett shiver. "Anyways, it's up to you know. Contact me once you find our man. Got it?"
Jett moaned weakly. Then he leaned his head towards his wrist, not daring to loosen his hold on the fence in the slightest. It was the only thing keeping him vertical at the moment. "Yeah. I got it." Fortunately his voice sounded a lot more confident than he felt.
"Awesome. Then good luck, stupid."
Luck? Luck wasn't going to help him here. Nothing short of a fully weaponized army was going to get him through this.
Jett closed his eyes and pressed his aching, dizzy head against the cold metal. An odd sound slipped from his throat. It sounded almost like a pitiful sob.
~*RW*~
The farmhouse lay cold and empty under the darkness of night. All was silent, as one would expect at this time. That was until a sudden gunshot shattered the peace.
Two dark shapes burst from the tree where they roosted, taking to the skies with angry calls. Beneath them stood a tall, lanky man, who leaned forward and gently rested his gun against the base of the tree.
He flicked on a flashlight, the beam of light tilting upwards to catch the dark shape of a large bird wheeling in the sky. A corner of his mouth quirked upwards into a cruel sneer. "Don't worry," he crooned. "It'll be your turn soon enough."
Then he directed the light downwards. Three small shapes lay where they had fallen. Feathers and blood scattered around them. One little bird was still alive, its small chest heaving and its small eyes shifting about in fear.
The man looked down on the survivor. Slowly, a grin spread across his face. He raised a foot, and deliberately lowered it on the bird's head. The crunch that followed was felt more than heard. When he stepped back, all three birds lay motionless and broken.
After pulling a small sack from his back pocket, the man pulled on a pair of worn leather work gloves. Then he crouched, and gathered the birds into the sack. The entire time, the two ravens shrieked miserably overhead.
Neither attacked the man below, as if they didn't dare to do so. They were only capable of crying mournfully, the sound of which made the man's smile grow.
He rose, and sauntered into the farmhouse. Fifteen minutes later, he came back outside. The sack was nowhere in sight.
Before he entered the beaten-up truck parked by the farmhouse, Gant cast one last look up at the sky.
"I'm starting to hope you survive tonight. Can't wait to see what you think of this little surprise." He started chuckling, and didn't stop until he was in the truck and a mile down the road.