"Never thought I'd be so happy to see your ugly mug, Mr. Hadrien," mused Skipper, as Blaine worked at his shackles, bending the metal outwards with red flashes of Aether.

"Don't get used to it," muttered Dragan, taking the precious opportunity to take a seat for a minute or two. "And it's not ugly."

Skipper beamed. "That's the spirit!"

Blaine was silent as she pulled off Skipper's last restraint - the one binding his left leg to the steel block. They'd taken off their helmets, as they'd now reached the point of the infiltration where disguise was pointless, and so Dragan could see Blaine's conflicted expression, as though she were close to tears.

Skipper stepped free, stumbling forward with a chuckle of freedom until Dragan caught him.

"My heroes," Skipper grinned.

"Like I said," replied Dragan, rolling his eyes as he tried to suppress a natural smirk. "Don't get used to it."

"Y-Your arm…" said Blaine quietly, still looking at the steel block, turning her head further so that her face couldn't be seen.

Skipper looked down at his stump as if noticing it for the first time, raising his eyebrows. He moved it up and down, as if making absolutely sure the limb was missing, before smiling sadly.

"Well," he said somberly. "These things happen. I'm just glad everyone made it out alive - so long as I'm alive, I don't much care what kind of shape I'm in."

"Don't!" shouted Blaine, resting her forehead against the steel block, her hands clenched into fists. "Don't - don't act like it's nothing, because it is! It is something! It's gone!"

"Ruth…" said Skipper quietly, walking over and crouching down next to her - putting a hand on her shoulder. "Come on."

Dragan shifted in his seat uncomfortably, cradling his own arm. It really felt like he was intruding on something here. Blaine should have known Skipper had lost an arm from the information Dragan had dug up, but knowing it and seeing it were two different things, he supposed.

"Maybe you could use Panacea?" he said meekly, offering a strained smile.

"Yeah!" said Blaine, turning away from the block with her eyes wide, looking up at Skipper. She was clearly clinging to the suggestion for dear life. "This place is big, they must have medical facilities, we could just steal us some!"

Skipper paused, bit his lip. He knew his answer wouldn't go down well. Then, he shook his head.

"Nah, nah," he said quietly. "Can't get us all put in more danger for my sake. Besides, I've heard horror stories about that Panacea stuff - could easily end up with a ball of hands instead of a fresh arm, and I'm not into that."

Blaine shouted: "You don't know that!"

Her reaction was more than understandable, the way Dragan saw it. The way she talked about him, the way she stared at him now, Skipper was clearly someone she looked up to - an invincible figure in her mind, to be sure. Being shown that he wasn't so invincible after all must be something of a shock.

"He's said no, Blaine," Dragan said, wincing as he bumped his bad arm on the chair. "You can't force him. Besides, he's right - we need to get out of here."

Blaine's eyes flicked from Dragan to Skipper, her teeth clenched. She was clearly tempted to continue the argument further, but after a moment she nodded slightly and took a step back, fists balled at her side. "Fine," she growled.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the chamber. Dragan cleared his throat. Another distant explosion shook the building.

"Well!" said Skipper, moving as if to clap his hands together before stopping for obvious reasons. "Seems to me it's best we discuss this elsewhere - preferably a star system or two away, but I'll take what I can get. I'm assuming there's a step two to this plan of yours?"

Blaine sniffled, then rubbed the back of her head, bleary-eyed. "Uh," she said. "Hadrien said he'd come up with a step two once we'd gotten this far…"

Skipper turned to look at Dragan, eyebrows as far up as they could go. "You broke into the most secure installation on the planet with a plan that doesn't have a step two?"

No, Dragan thought.

"Yes," he said.

Skipper narrowed his eyes, taking in Dragan's expression. "No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't," Dragan confessed.

"Huh?" Blaine stood back to her full height, her brow furrowed, eyes uncomprehending. "But you said-"

"-I was lying, sorry," said Dragan, lying about being sorry. "But I have a good reason."

"And that is?" Blaine threw her arms out wide, confusion quickly transforming into outrage.

"Well, if I told you my actual plan, you wouldn't have agreed to it because you like being alive."

Skipper laughed long and hard, like this was the first funny thing he'd seen in a good long while; Blaine shot a glare at him.

"So," said Skipper, wiping a tear from his eye. "What is this suicide pact you've worked out for us, Mr. Hadrien?"

-

Rikhail compulsively adjusted his tie, his cufflinks, his hair, every aspect of his appearance that his hands could reach. Everything would be fine. Everything would be fine, and yet…

Why did Goley want to talk to him? Why now, for Y's sake?! Did he know about the prisoner? Had someone leaked the information?

He wiped his brow clean. This was unbearable - he was a shrewd political operator, he knew that, and yet a single word from Goley turned him into a frightened child. It wasn't fair for that man to have such effortless influence over him, to strike dread into his heart so easily.

The elevator soared upwards, towards his office at the top of the Heart Building. That damn prison cell, where Goley could reach him whenever he wanted. Damn that man. Why couldn't he just disappear?

At least he wouldn't have to worry about the Minister's attack dog anymore. Prescott would take care of that Muzazi bastard. Wouldn't he?

Horrible doubt crawled up his spine like a spider. Shouldn't he have heard from Prescott by now? He'd had ample time to dispose of the Special Officer. At the very least, he should have received a notification letting him know the job was done.

Unless…

No.

Unless…?

Prescott was smart, and Muzazi was stupid. His son could simply shoot the annoyance in the back of the head while he was inspecting some evidence - and then he could grab the Hadrien brat that had brought them there. It would all work out fine. His son was fine.

He was fine, Rikhail thought, just as an explosion sounded down below.

The building shook, and the elevator paused for a second in its tube before resuming it's ascent. Rikhail, on the other hand, was knocked over by the sudden jolt, falling onto his side, eyes wide with terror. What was happening now?!

Realization spiked through his brain like a stake. The Hyena. He'd forgotten to see to the Hyena situation. Even if he was just going to have him killed, he should have made some false apologies to delay the lunatic's wrath. Stupid, stupid!

Rikhail pulled himself to his feet, grabbing onto the elevator's railing as support. This was fine. This was fine. He could still fix this. Security could deal with the Hyena's men, Prescott was fine, and he could deal with Goley. So long as he still had his best game piece, the nameless prisoner, he could pull himself out of this.

Hand shaking, he pulled out his script and opened a communications channel to Crossland.

"Come in," he said, voice hoarse. "I need an immediate update. Have you got him frozen yet?"

No answer came. Not even breathing could be heard on the other end. Rikhail shook the script, as if there were some error with the machine itself. He slapped his hand against the screen, once, twice, making absolutely sure that it was working.

It was working fine. There was no problem with the machine. There was … no problem, no problem, it was fine, there was no problem, he could make it out of this so long as he - so long as he - no, no, no, no problem -

Rikhail screamed long and hard, a primal howl of fear and pain that filled the air, lingering even after the elevator went shooting further up towards his office.

He fell into the fetal position, hands clutching his skull as he squeezed his eyes shut, as though the world just couldn't hurt him if he couldn't see it. His scream died down to a consistent low whine, streams of bitter tears leaking from his closed eyelids.

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"No problem..." he mumbled, with a kind of strangled laughter. "No problem?!"

The elevator stopped. Rikhail heard a ding, then the doors sliding open.

A foot tapped itself against his face. Shaking, dreading what he might see, Rikhail opened his eyes and looked up.

The Hyena grinned down at him, framed on either side by burly thugs.

"You look like you're in some trouble, buddy," the Hyena said. "Pal, friend. Chum."

-

Dragan led the way as the three of them made their way down the corridor, following the schematics he'd memorized before they'd arrived.

"That's crazy," Blaine said, for what felt like the tenth time that day.

Dragan rolled his eyes. Why did she have to wait until now to gain common sense? "It's not crazy," he said, doing his best to keep the directions in his head as he spoke. "It's the only way we get out of this. It's the Hyena's men downstairs and security everywhere else. We're not getting out of this unless we have the bargaining chip."

"It's crazy," said Blaine again.

Skipper grinned. "I know, right?"

Apparently, Skipper had overheard the Lord Mayor saying he was headed to his office, so they were making their way to one of the service elevators to follow him up there. Not one of the public elevators visitors used - with the current situation, there was no way they weren't being watched.

The service elevators were used primarily for outside repairs, and so were capable of moving along an intricate system of rails on the exterior of the Heart Building. The majority of the fighting seemed to be on the inside of the building, as far as Dragan could see, so making their way up from the outside gave them the biggest chance of success.

"We grab Rikhail," said Dragan, trying to convince Blaine just as much as himself. "Then we take him down to the building's hangars, steal a ship, and get out of this system as far as we can, using him as a human shield."

"There's some flaws in that plan," said Skipper as they ran.

Dragan frowned. "There are no flaws," he said, then paused. "Uh, what are they?"

They reached the service elevator hatch and Blaine stepped forward, crimson Aether sparking around her arms as she worked it open with a grunt.

"Well," said Skipper, leaning against a wall as he rubbed his neck. "You're assuming they won't shoot us down because they won't want to hurt their Lord Mayor, right? What if they just don't care? We'll die, and it'll be a really embarrassing death to boot."

Dragan opened his mouth for a retort, but none came. That was … that was a good point.

"Don't get me wrong," said Skipper, shrugging his one-armed shrug. "It's not a bad plan at all, but every plan has flaws. If you don't know your flaws, you can't correct them, right?"

Raising an eyebrow, Dragan spoke: "And how exactly do you propose we correct the flaw in this plan? The Lord Mayor is the most valuable hostage on the planet. We're not getting a better bargaining chip than him."

"Oh, absolutely," nodded Skipper. "I have no clue how to fix it - I'm just saying we have to be prepared to get blown to kingdom come."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Uh, okay?" This motivational speech wasn't exactly filling Dragan with hope.

"Cool!" Skipper said, once again trying to clap his hands together. "Good talk!"

"It's open," grunted Blaine, tearing the service hatch in two with her Skeletal claws and tossing each half either side. Dragan stepped out of the way just in time as the mangled metal flew down the hallway.

The service elevator itself was spacious enough - presumably to fit equipment that might be required for repairs - but the lighting was dim, provided only by one light on the ceiling that had clearly seen better days. A control panel on the side of the wall, next to the door, allowed a destination to be input.

Dragan tapped in the number for the outside of the Lord Mayor's office. "This'll take us along the exterior of the building," he said. "So we'll have to tear through this wall to get inside once we arrive."

Blaine nodded. "I can handle that."

Skipper chuckled as he stepped into the elevator, supporting his weight with a hand on the railing.

"Up we go…" he said quietly, as the elevator began to move.

-

The outside of the Heart Building had become a battlefield since last Muzazi had seen it. Still bodies, Supremacy and otherwise, littered the ground and countless fires raged in the courtyard just outside the gates. Some vehicles had been moved to provide cover for the Supremacy soldiers who were attempting to take the lobby, but it was a good position for the attackers, who were managing to hold them off. Plasma was fired back and forth like rain, and smoke rose from the ground where it fell. The air was full of the stink of burnt flesh.

Still, it was a numbers game. Security had many more brave officers than they had two-bit thugs.

"Sir," gasped a soldier - a commander, judging from the sash around him - as Muzazi approached. "It's the Hyena's men, sir - they disguised themselves as civilians, came in with incendiaries. They've completely sealed off the lobby and they're demanding the Hyena's release!"

The soldiers were crouched behind an overturned car, portable shield generators deflecting the plasmafire that did make it past the physical barrier. Muzazi took cover too as he spoke to them, watching orange streaks of plasmafire fly through the sky overhead.

Muzazi frowned. It was unbecoming for the Supremacy to be defeated so easily. Ordinarily, he wouldn't think a Supremacy official would give in to such demands, but given what he'd learned about the Lord Mayor… "Where is Rikhail?" he said. "Has he offered a response?"

The commander shook their head. "Communications are down, sir. We can't get through to anyone else - last we heard, he was headed up to his office, so he may well be in the thick of it already."

"I see." That was unfortunate; he had some things he needed to discuss with the Lord Mayor. He'd have to concoct a solution, then.

"Sir," said the commander, clearly eager for direction. "What are your orders? What do we do?"

Muzazi's gaze slid over to a car some distance away - the vehicle had been knocked upside-down by some kind of blast, and had been left there as the occupants fled. His eyes flicked over from it to the Heart Building, to the top of the tower, judging the angle and estimating the vehicle's durability. He smiled.

It would suffice.

"Commander," he said firmly, pointing towards the car. "I'm going to head over there. I'll need you and your men to provide covering fire for twelve seconds or so."

"Sir?" the commander said. "I - I don't follow. You're heading over there? Why?"

"Please don't worry about it. I'm going to start moving now."

Before the commander could protest further, Muzazi leapt into action, charging towards the car with a flash of white Aether. A flurry of plasmafire surged towards him, but he side-stepped it - using thrusters along the right side of his body to increase the speed of the movement.

He heard the Supremacy soldiers behind him begin returning fire at the criminals just as he reached the car, vaulting onto its surface with one hand and landing in a crouched position. He placed his palm flat against the vehicle's hot surface, closing his eyes as he visualised the necessary thruster placements. Five would be needed along the underside of his new platform - one in the middle, and one in each corner. Maximum strength.

Nine seconds in total. It seemed he'd underestimated himself.

His body burnt with Aether, the five thrusters on the underside of the car flared like roaring incinerators, taking it aloft - and Muzazi took flight.

-

Dragan resisted the urge to vomit. When he'd read that the service elevators zipped around the outside of the Heart Building, he'd assumed there was some kind of stabilizer. Clearly, there wasn't - instead, he was being sent stumbling every time the damn lift changed direction.

"Having some trouble?" said Skipper, motionless, leaning against the wall.

"No," said Dragan, as he collapsed to the side. "I'm fine."

Skipper looked concerned. "Are you just being proud, or is there actually, like, a compulsive lying thing going on here? That's sad if so."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, okay, just proud then! Nice!"

The elevator stopped moving, allowing Dragan to clamber to his feet without risk of going flying. He dusted himself off - the patches of the armour he'd managed to repair were thoroughly ruined now, and the rest of the suit wasn't far off.

"We're here," said Blaine quietly. She was already on all fours, in her Skeletal Set, ready to bust through the wall she was facing. “Skipper, little help here?”

“No problemo.” The captain stepped forward and pointed his hand at the wall, making that stupid fingergun gesture. Two sounds like resonating gunshots rang out through the elevator - Dragan put his hands to his ears - and as they did, twin dents appeared in the metal wall as if it had been punched by an invisible fist.

Skipper grinned smugly and took a step back. “There we go - getting my mojo back. Softened it up for ya, Ruth.”

Blaine nodded and crouched even lower, the red Aether around her hands intensifying so much it looked like she was wearing crimson glowing gloves. Then, she kicked off the ground and leapt at the wall, her hands placed against each other palm-to-palm, the claws of her Skeletal gloves pointing right at the centre of the wall.

The elevator shook uncomfortably, and Dragan felt a bead of sweat run down his neck. Had the force of that jump dislodged the elevator from the rails?

She collided with the wall, her claws sinking into it like a knife into butter, and the wall protested with the screeching sound of tearing metal as the dents in its surface went further in, becoming thin holes through which a sliver of bright artificial light could be seen. Dragan caught a snippet of indistinct, muffled conversation.

“Make sure to get a good shot of this, good picture, good scene,” came a familiar voice through the gap. “I want this to be a fucking nightmare.”

Dragan spoke up cautiously: “Uh, maybe hold off a second on-”

Blaine tore the wall open, sticking her claws into the holes and ripping the entire sheet of metal apart. The conversation stopped.

On the other side of the wall was a huge office, wrecked furniture littering the floor. The majority of the room’s walls were occupied by a huge window, offering a view of Breck Kor below. In the center of the room, Lord Mayor Rikhail was on his knees, face red with stress - the Hyena stood over him with a pistol to the other man's head. Two other thugs were in the room, too: one of them holding a massive plasma-rifle, the other operating a handheld camera and recording the scene in front of them.

All four of them gaped at the new arrivals. Skipper waved sheepishly.

“Uh, hey there, fellas,” he grinned. “Gonna need to take old man Rikhail with us, if ya don’t mind.”

The Hyena’s gaze turned cold, any trace of even feigned charm fading away. Dragan had seen it before on Crestpoole - with the theatrical scum, the thing they hated most of all was having their performance interrupted. It was like an extra in a musical tripping up the star.

The crime lord shoved Rikhail to the ground, marched past him, and pointed his pistol at Dragan’s group.

“You just made a miscalculation, friend,” he hissed. “A big lapse of judgement, a big old blunder, a massive fucking mistake-”

In the second before he went to pull the trigger, the room exploded. The window burst inwards as a huge metal object hurtled through it, crashing through the furniture and directly into the Hyena, obliterating him in a second. What could only generously be called his body went flying into the opposite wall, leaving a nauseating stain. The two thugs, faces white, pulled up their weapons and pointed them at the object that had lodged itself in the middle of the room.

The dust and billowing smoke made it difficult to determine, but there seemed to be some kind of humanoid figure crouched atop it. Dragan squinted, looking below at the twisted metal hulk. Was that … was that a car?

The smoke cleared, revealing the figure now standing on top of it. A tall swordsman, hair and long-coat fluttering in the wind, his blade glowing an eerie white. Moonlight Aether flickered around his entire body.

On the other side of the car - it’s arrival had pretty much split the room in two - Rikhail crawled backwards a way. “N-No problem,” he whimpered, a broken look in his eyes. Dragan wasn’t sure why exactly, but the man clearly had reason to be terrified of the new arrival. Blaine tensed up next to him, and Skipper pointed his finger towards the swordsman cautiously.

Atoy Muzazi’s grey eyes flicked from Lord Mayor Rikhail to Dragan’s group, ignoring the two thugs who were still pointing their guns at him. He blinked, and a decision seemed to be made. Jets of white Aether burst out from his back -

- and he rushed towards Ruth Blaine, angel-white sword held high over his head, death in his eyes.