Despite the unplanned detour, Team JNPR was making excellent time. After splitting off from the others at the power room, they hadn't a moment to waste. Each of them were silently grateful to professor Port. The amount of running and endurance training he'd put them through made their mad dash feel like a light warm-up. Put in comparison with the rest of their night thus far, it practically had been. Though not one of them felt they were ready for what they'd found themselves thrust into. Excited, eager, and prepared in some ways. But this had been their first true taste of combat since their time at Beacon had begun.
As the old saying went: everyone's ready until they meet Nora. After that, anything goes.
But they'd managed to make it to the armory in time to prevent the people inside from being overrun. Even if they'd inadvertently helped break the door down. Ren couldn't tell if that was something that could be chalked up to their hard work, luck, or both. Only further muddied by what they were hearing through communicating with their friends.
"I worry we should go help Six," Ren spoke as they rounded a corner at full speed. "I understand he seems the most experienced out of all of us, but what he's facing right now seems too much for someone alone."
"I'm quite worried about Ruby and the others as well," Pyrrha added. "This whole situation is growing increasingly distressing."
"But it's what we signed up for," Nora twittered. "Someone has to help these guys, otherwise things won't change in here!"
"Once we're… done in here…" Jaune panted, trying to keep pace with the rest of them. "We'll go… help them…"
Jaune was truly grateful for all the training Pyrrha had given him. Despite both it and his Aura, however, he was beginning to feel quite winded. If they survived tonight, cardio would need to be the new thing for him to focus on. A notion that only solidified as they reached the stairs leading to the next floor of the prison.
The cafeteria they needed to reach was on the second floor.
After securing the armory for the guards, they had opted to go in advance of the guards, clearing the way and more easily enabling them to reach their destination. So far they'd only encountered brief resistance. Only a handful of the prisoners bothered them. Fewer seemed inclined to stay long enough to be of worry. But they all knew that the real problem would begin once they reached the cafeteria…
As soon as they reached the top of the stairs.
Nora, Ren, and Pyrrha bounded up the steps without missing a beat. Nora even managed to take them two or three at a stride. She could keep going because she'd had a hearty and nutritious breakfast, and was intent to earn it.
Who could possibly want salad when pancakes and bacon existed? If love tasted like chicken, life tasted like pancakes and bacon drenched in syrup. She also knew love did taste like chicken… At least, she hoped that was love she was tasting.
Rather than allow herself to get pulled off on a tangent, Nora chose to let that train of thought vanish. She could worry about… that situation tomorrow. Or never. Never was also fine for now.
The quartet of Huntsmen-in-training rounded onto a landing and up another flight of stairs. As they went, echoes of waited for them filtered from the corridors ahead of them, rebounding off the old stone walls and cold metal beams that supported the century old structure. No screech of alarm nor blare of a klaxon to warn them of the danger, or those who were trapped by it. Only the reverberating battle cries and raucous laughter of the inmates as they railed against the system that bound them, trading their shot at freedom for the gratification that came with reprisal.
Ren grimaced at the thought of it. He didn't want any of them to escape. But that some were more focused on simple violence twisted his stomach into an angry knot. It was senseless to him, to all of them.
But they would deal with it. Of that he grimly was certain.
Not long after leaving the stairs behind them, the quartet passed an elevator. It was with an idle note that Jaune recognized it, having been informed by the guards they would be bringing their supplies to the upper level with it. A good confirmation they were on the right track. Also a sign they weren't far from a fight.
"We'll be there… soon…" Jaune huffed.
"Do you need to catch your breath?" Pyrrha asked.
"Yep," Jaune wheezed. "I'll be fine… Breathing is… for the weak."
"That's the spirit!" Nora crowed.
Pyrrha smirked as their sprint to the cafeteria began to draw to a close. The sounds they heard echoing through the corridor began to condense and grow in volume, melding into a reverberating clamor that hit their ears akin to a half brick through a plate-glass window. The sight before them was far more clear than it would've been some minutes prior. A dense mob crowded the corridor, dozens of inmates and prisoners thrashing about. They pressed against the walls and the steel bars to the cafeteria, thrashing and crashing like the barely contained waves of a stormy sea. The bars of the cafeteria buckled against the strain, the officers pushing back from within.
"We're here!" Nora announced. "… Plan?"
"Flower Power…" Jaune panted, trying not to double over on himself.
"…"
All three of his teammates looked at him in silent confusion.
"Flower Power?" Ren asked.
"You and Nora's… combo move?" Jaune answered, gathering himself. "We spent all last week… trying to practice it."
"… That was supposed to be for combat?" Nora asked.
"Oh just throw him already!" Jaune groaned.
"… 'kay."
Nora turned and gave her partner a conspiratorial grin, earning her a soft chuckle. The duo broke into a sprint down the hall, towards the violently shifting crowd. Ren took the lead between them as Nora extended Magnhild's handle. Her weapon spun about her as she twisted at the hip, grinning wildly as Ren jumped. He twisted in the air as they moved, feet horizontal to meet the swinging head of Nora's hammer. His head tilted back to meet Nora's gaze. A quick wink passed from him to her as he was catapulted forward, leaving his partner temporarily stunned as he flew through the air.
As he passed through the air, Ren drew his pistols, Storm Flower, and placed them ahead of himself. With practiced hands he aimed them at a canted angle and pulled the triggers, eliciting bursts of fire from their muzzles. He hardly needed to choose his targets, firing into such a crowd, nor would he even need to fire for long. The speed at which he was flying meant he would only have a short window for it. His gunfire had been, in this case, purely to draw the attention of those they were engaging. With practice, perhaps it could have been more meaningful.
All the same, it had its intended effect.
Bullets collided with inmates as they rioted against the wall. Those who they struck staggered against their fellows, only then to be struck by Ren as he flew into the knot of them, spinning and arcing with the grace of a wire-hung acrobat, the blades that slung downward from the muzzles of his pistols artfully slicing and slashing against the inmates as he opened a path into them. One that would not last long, nor was itself large. But nor was it meant to be.
Quick as lightning and with thunderous might, Nora flew after her partner. She rooted herself into the channel he made and swung her hammer around her, clearing the space, an action as easy to her as brushing aside half-grown saplings. The motion itself expanded the narrow channel to a space several yards wide, a space that would've been wider had she followed through with how Jaune had originally had them perform the move.
Though even Nora knew that slamming one of Magnhild's grenades into the floor was an idea better suited for someplace outdoors. Or, at the very least, someplace neither she nor Ren had an interest in protecting.
But the actions that they'd carried out were effective on their own, building momentum. It carried them deeper into the crowd of Inmates, now fully aware of their presence and thoroughly annoyed by it.
Recognizing their opening had been made, despite the burning in his lungs, Jaune pushed forward. He broke into a sprint after Nora and Ren, Pyrrha falling easily into stride with him. He pulled his shield around front himself, the blade of Crocea Mors low and pointed for the enemy. Pyrrha followed the action with Akoúo̱, her spear Miló settling into the divots the circular shield. The two pushed against the inmates that their teammates had swept aside, then pressed in at an angle, attempting to control the crowd through basic motion alone.
In front of Jaune, an inmate who'd managed to weather a blow rounded on him. A makeshift club appeared in his hand as he struck at Jaune, only for the younger man's sword arm to snake upward, his weapon meeting the inmate's. The two locked together with a twist of the handle, guided away as Jaune raised his shield and bashed the inmate in the face. The blow was solid and harsh, sending the older of the two back.
Although lacking cardio, Jaune was grateful for everything Pyrrha did to help make him stronger.
Moving almost in tandem with him, Pyrrha fought two inmates simultaneously. Her shield moved with contemptuous ease to push back one assailant as her spear shot forward, striking her second attacker as he shield tilted, the edge of it crashing forward where it had previously blocked. Both inmates were brushed aside with ease as she moved to confront a third.
Even as they did, the crowd continued to push back, trying to refill the space that Nora and Ren had cleared, just as water rushed to fill a void in its presence. The two moved back to back, Nora's hammer keeping them at bay as Ren began picking off inmates with syncopated bouts of gunfire.
"Pyrrha, Arkos!" Jaune shouted.
Wordlessly, Pyrrha responded. Jaune felt the pressure and weight of his shield fall away, carried by some unseen forces. An aura of black hovered over the curved piece of metal, and he began to press forward. He let the shield guide his path as he swung his sword, using the borrowed momentum and power to open a path of his own, letting his sword carve it wider. Inmates fell at the increased pressure. The crowd moved back.
In tandem, Pyrrha moved of her own accord, spear and shield thrusting and clashing against weapons that sought her out. Yet none that never found her, or only met her shield. She could feel the strain in her chest, the power of her Semblance, spread across herself and Jaune. A power she knew full well could be tremendous and at times unwieldy. But it allowed her to be untouchable when she did not wish to be.
With Jaune, she'd discovered it could apply to others as well, under the right circumstances.
The two moved closer through the crowd coming out ahead of Nora and Ren, buying the two space, and allowing them to focus on removing the lesser number of inmates, as Jaune and Pyrrha held back the bulk themselves. They came close together, the edges of their shields connecting into a wall as they pushed back, their Aura-enhanced strength creating a brief gap between them and the inmates.
"Has anyone ever told you how awesome your Semblance is?" Jaune asked.
"Once or twice," Pyrrha huffed, smiling at him.
"… Well, you're even more awesome, then." Jaune said, sparing her a glance, and a smile of his own.
Had they not been in the midst of a brawl, he might have paid more mind to the vibrant blush on her face. Or the way his shield began to press forward with even more power and vigor.
But the onslaught had done what they'd needed it to.
The whole of the riot had turned its attention on them, and away from the bars of the cafeteria. Just barely could Jaune see the guards inside turning their gaze away from the inmates and towards them. He wondered, briefly, if this would count as them breaking a siege of some kind.
His grip on his sword shifted, as he heard Pyrrha shift Miló into its rifle form, the bolt cycling. He tried to think of something cool to say. That's what you were supposed to do in situations like that.
Unfortunately, even with Pyrrha at his side, and Ren and Nora at his back, his mind drew a blank. He didn't think himself particularly impressive. He had no special power to boast of, nor training he could call his own.
But he did have them.
A bunch of criminals weren't going to be enough.
He raised his sword at them, and forced himself to speak with a level of conviction he knew full well he didn't fully feel. Not yet.
"You're all going to wish you stayed home."
…
The further I went down the corridor of Oakholme, the more I felt a growing sense of dread building in my spine. Appearances can be worth a lot, even if they're sometimes deceiving. So far the prison, despite appearing like a castle from the outside, had been a more modern structure inside. In some ways I could even compare it to the NCRCF, if it had been in better condition. Some proper funding had been spared to keep the place in working order. The Jailbreak and riots were only working to help with the comparison.
Heading towards what I now knew to be the Maximum Security portion of the prison though, things changed. Any pretense that there could be anything but a prison in this building was gone. No paint on the walls, no paneling. Any pipes or wiring that'd been exposed were gone, buried back into the walls or otherwise reinforced. Slabs of concrete and steel made the floor and walls. Basic lighting recessed into the ceiling, dim even with power restored. There were no offshoots, no side rooms. Just the open corridor, running out to the Oakholme wing for a distance that felt all too long.
It butted up to a doorway that would've felt more at home in a bank vault. Or maybe even the overseer's office of a Vault vault. A pair of sliding doors, slabs of steel more than a half foot thick, bolts and pins along their edges, ready to sink themselves into the frames set into the walls and floor. A handle to physically move either door set on both slabs. To the right side of the doorframe, a terminal, this one not as sleek as any I'd come across yet. Bulky, blocky, and likely a part of whatever separate system existed in Oakholme. For such large security doors, it likely had some form of secondary security. Which had failed.
Looking at it, not even seeing what the inside of the Wing looked like, I was reminded of Big MT. Of its various labs and facilities, still functional, if barely so. Full of whatever dangers multiple deranged and genius intellects could dream up.
It told me I would be walking into a madhouse even before I could see what was inside.
The doors were wide open.
I slung Clark's rifle in front of me and made sure I was topped of, bullet in the chamber. Same for my shotgun, but I was almost certain I was out of ice shells. Had to be close to the same for the gravity ones as well. Maybe had two, three of them left. They were useful under the right circumstances, but I'd rather ghost load them as needed then keep the tube loaded. Instead, I loaded my fire-slugs into the tube and chamber. If there was going to be a point tonight I was going to need them, I got the sense this was it.
Though part of me hoped, likely in vain, that I could avoid all the trouble.
Maximum Security meant controlled entry and exit points, and not many of them. Maybe there were emergency exits, but a part of me had to doubt it. If you somehow managed to wind up in a place like that, you'd probably done something to only be just short of death row. With everything else going on, I was just hoping it'd be simple.
I approached one of the steel doors and gave it a hearty pull.
It didn't budge.
Just to be sure, I gave it a second, Aura-enhanced pull just to be safe. Still nothing, and judging by the way the door was structured, I could tell why. Even if the door couldn't lock open, it had hydraulic hosing leading to it, actuating it. The doors themselves probably weighed multiple tons alone. Nora might've been able to brute force them closed, but I couldn't.
Which meant I had to go with option B.
I approached the terminal and began typing at the keyboard. It wasn't as complex as trying to reconnect to the CCT had been, I wasn't dealing with server-wide issues. The terminal was simply the control for the doors, likely connected to the secondary systems of the wing. Security to make sure the doors would lock if something went wrong. That they were clearly not locked tighter than a Freeside Virgin meant that something was wrong.
A quick cycle through the options and a selection to shut the doors showed, yep, there was a problem.
The hydraulics began to rumble as they primed themselves, only to back off just as quickly. An error message flashed over the terminal's screen, giving a code I didn't recognize. As it did, my Pip-Boy did a sound-off.
-Complete: Investigate the Oakholme Wing
-Objective: Figure out how to re-initiate lockdown
The advice should've been self-explanatory. But it also had the benefit of providing me with an arrow on my compass.
It was pointing deeper into the Wing.
I pulled up my Scroll. "Penny, ask Mark if he knows anything about the secondary system in the Oakholme wing."
There was a pause, as Penny did her part. "… He says he doesn't know too much, why?"
"Ask him how I can get the system to reset itself enough to shut the doors," I explained, peering beyond the massive steel doors. The corridor went on for a short distance, but I could see it opening up into a cell-block.
Again another pause, then an answer. "He says there's an observation post at the opposite end of the Cell Block from the entrance," Penny explained. "Most of the major system functions have to be reset from there… He also wants to know why I keep asking him random questions."
"Tell him you're thinking about being a prison architect in the future," I said, slipping through the doors. "I'm going to have to go in and reset everything. How're the cameras coming?"
"I'm making good progress," Penny answered. "But I haven't gotten to where you are yet."
"Do me a favor: don't," I told her. "There are some things you're better off not seeing."
I would've said this if I'd known I was going to have to get bloody and violent with the inmates. Given who I was going up against, I knew that was a good possibility too.
But that wasn't why I'd told her not to.
I'd made my way the rest of the distance down the corridor, running as quietly as I could, rifle ready.
Only stopped at the mouth of the cell block once I'd gotten a better look of things.
For a moment, I felt like I'd literally walked into hell, and I've been in the Divide. The word conveys the idea of some place that's physically terrifying or painful to remain in for a long time, for eternity. But stepping into the cell block, it fit the more literal description most people might have in mind. The dark, fire and smoke-filled abyss that reeks of sulfur, iron, and death.
The cell block was a long corridor, solid steel doors lining both walls, maybe six or seven feet apart each. Sets of stairs broke up the cell clusters every couple dozen yards, rising up to catwalks that made a basic second floor, allowing them to double how many people they could cram in. The cells, stairs, and catwalks between them ran the length of the cell-block, all the way to the far end. They curved off slightly then, the far end forming a semicircle. In the middle, a massive tower jutted from the ground floor up to the second. A searchlight on top of it, blacked out windows circling the upper level. A panopticon.
They really tried to see everything. Make sure nothing went wrong.
But it did.
Electricity had to have been restored to the cell block, but any lights had been torn down or broken. It seemed to be that way for almost anything on the ceiling and walls that could be reached. Anything that couldn't be, they must've climbed to. The lack of windows made the room oppressively dark, only barely cut by my lenses' low-light vision. What little light was in the room came from the ground floor, a few spots on the catwalk that spanned the second level of cells. The outward glow of flames, licking upward from whatever they could get to hold them. Trash bins, overturned lockers, even toilets they must've ripped from their cells. If they'd even been allowed those. I had no idea what they were burning, but it smoked heavily, thick plumes of smog rising into the air, heating the expansive room.
I observed the inmates as I stood there, at the mouth of it.
They barely made a sound.
It was like I was standing back at the main hall again, where we'd first seen the map of the prison. No one was fighting, what noise they made was light and inconsequential. Anybody who was moving, did so with purpose and vigor, otherwise they milled about, waiting in groups that spoke in hushed and seemingly aggressive tones. Not all of them were strictly Faunus or human either. The White Fang had already co-opted the inmates they needed, so there were likely enough people willing to cross lines. For now.
Those who didn't, I could already see on the ground, laying in puddles of their own gore. Or being coated with red Dust and dragged over to the fires… ah, that's where the smell was coming from.
But the number of people still standing massively outnumbered those who weren't. There had to be more than a hundred people, maybe just shy of two hundred. They were procuring and improvising weapons out of everything they could get their hands on. Some of them even had guns. Only a few, sidearms, a few long guns. Prison issue, probably taken from the people who'd been in charge of the block.
I'd fought more people. I'd fought better armed people. I survived both.
But I knew well enough that I didn't have the time to waste fighting. Not there, not when everyone else was working to secure everything.
I just couldn't leave things so they could escape either.
Finally finding my legs, I slipped down into stealth mode and crept out of the corridor, into the block. I kept the muzzle of my rifle low as I went, mindful not to accidentally let it connect with anything. My compass was pointing me to the far side of the block, straight ahead. Good guess was I needed to get into the panopticon. Seemed important enough.
Rather than move along the ground level, I decided the high ground was better. Rather than being down where they were gathered and plotting, I moved where most weren't looking. I wouldn't have as much cover to work with, but it was better than being right at eye level, helped by the thick smoke that was filling the air. Any Faunus and White Fang in the room would stand a better chance at seeing through it, but the stench in the air would at least muddy their other senses. I'd take whatever advantage I was offered.
I moved towards the left side of the block from the mouth of the room. As I reached near the wall I began to move deeper, keeping out of sight as I approached the stairs to the upper catwalks. Most of the groups either had their backs towards me, or I bladed with their shoulders. Right before I reached the stairs, one of the inmates, a human male, looked in my direction. He seemed to scan where I was for a moment, and I paused, letting the shadows keep me covered. After a moment, his gaze slipped to the other side of the room, and I kept moving.
Part of me was worried, as I climbed the stairs, that my feet would ring the steps like church bells. They were solid faced with tread plates, but the hollow. A thin surface that rang every time time something touched them. Even supported as it was, I had to watch my steps as I climbed my way up to the catwalk overhead. Some of the Faunus, scattered in the groups near the stairs, stirred slightly. Looking around, but not at me. They could hear me, barely. Not enough to make a good guess of where I was. They dismissed it as I went higher. As I reached the catwalk, I found the platform to be made of steel grating, most of it painted it a lifeless gray. Yet another thing that would make noise if I didn't watch my step. At the very least everything seemed sturdy and properly made. Anything that wasn't being actively broken down for improvised weapons, that is.
The smell of burning hair and scorched fat only got worse as I'd climbed the stairs. Being up, almost in the thick of it, was stomach churning. I'd smelled some pretty rank things in the wasteland, but burning bodies always got my hackles up. Did for most people. The hindbrain doesn't like the idea of us dying to begin with, smelling it just tickled the rest in the wrong way. If it wasn't for my gasmask filtering out even a small amount of the greasy vapor that hung in the air, it'd be different. I'd be a lot keener to get and stay out of it.
As it was, I could manage.
Carefully, I continued forward along the catwalk, watching my steps, where my muzzle was, and that Knock-Knock didn't scrape the ground as I went.
I managed to make my way through the first portion of the catwalk, between the first and second stairs. None of them noticed me as I went, as far as I could tell. Imagine someone would've raised the alarm if they had. But I did hear something as I went, it just seemed to appear out of nowhere. A soft sound that I only seemed to just barely catch as I went. The cold, crackling scrape of metal against stone. Kind of like the honing of a knife along a whetstone. When I first heard it, I paused and checked over myself, just to make sure I wasn't making it. Then my surroundings, to make sure I hadn't been made. But despite both I couldn't pick out where it'd come from. Regardless, it continued moving independent of me, so perhaps someone was just moving something.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
I kept my ears open for the noise as I moved onto the second section of the catwalk. There were three of them that led back to the panopticon. I was going to have to take the fourth set of stairs, at the far end, down to ground level if I was going to get in. Didn't appear there were any connections from the catwalk. That part would be tricky, but as long as the way was clear it would be easy enough.
Right as I was about to make my way onto the third section of the catwalk, I ran into trouble. The cell door immediately in front of me swung open. To the right as well, so it couldn't even act as a bit of cover. Immediately following it, hand against the door, one of the inmates stepped out. They were wearing an orange jumpsuit with the sleeves rolled up. There was blood splattered on the chest, brown mingled with the orange. Bright red on the bit of white undershirt that showed. He was skinny, his skin a bit pale and sickly. He got one foot out of the cell with an even stride, head and neck bobbing out after him. Hair was shaved down to the scalp, face was a bit boney, had a spider tattoo on the side of his neck facing me, just under his jaw. He had eyes the color of wet rust, and they glanced toward me as he stepped out. They flashed with a flicker of surprise.
My right hand left my rifle and snatched Blood-Nap from my boot. In the same motion I sprang up from my crouch, flipped my grip, and thrust the knife forward.
It sank to the hilt in his neck. Split the spider in half.
My head twisted towards the cell block beneath us, VATS snapping open. I couldn't move my eyes, but it let me survey the scene. While there were inmates moving and looking around, none of them seemed poised for speed. Their attention was still there, at ground level.
VATS closed, my head twisted to briefly look in the cell, make sure there wasn't someone I'd miss.
There was.
But they weren't going to be a problem.
A guard was lying face down inside the cell. He was near the back wall of the cell, which apparently did have a toilet in it. Or, had a toilet. The toilet had been made of steel, and the bowl had been hit hard enough to shear apart, leaving the thing wrenched open, water pouring out of it and into the room.
I couldn't see much of the guard's face, or much of his head. But there was blood everywhere, thinned by the water. With how close he was to the toilet, it wasn't a guess how it'd happened. More a morbid surprise it'd happened at all. I couldn't guess what the guard had done to deserve something that brutal, if anything. Or why the inmate with my knife in his throat had felt it warranted.
But it didn't matter to me either. Fuck this guy.
VATS closed and I slashed Blood-Nap down and to the side, away and out for the inmate's throat. There was a small splash of crimson as the way was opened. They hadn't even had time to react as they tried to turn towards me.
I shoved him back into the cell and spun past him, carefully shutting the door. I pressed my back to the wall and looked out over the cell block, waiting for either shouting or fighting to erupt. When it didn't, I knew I'd been successful. There was a bit of splashing in the cell, but it was heavily muffled by the steel door.
Calmly, I cleaned Blood-Nap and put it back in my boot, returning my grip to Clark's rifle. There was no point in lingering if it'd just get me caught.
The rest of the distance between me and the fourth flight of stairs was uninterrupted. No other surprises or sudden appearances. Even the noise I'd heard previously had faded off. Whatever it was, if it was following me, it was keeping its distance.
At the stairwell, I examined the ground floor below. It was only a couple yards from the bottom of the stairs to the bottom of the panopticon. Another set of stairs, these ones gated in, spiraled up the tower and into the office proper. I still couldn't see anything inside the office, the windows were blacked out and mostly intact. That was the point of the panopticon, but it definitely didn't help in this situation. For all I knew there was someone watching from inside of it. All I could count on was that I hadn't been made while dealing with the inmate. Had to hope it would stay that way.
Descending the stairs, I could see around the opposite edge of the panopticon. There was another group of inmates talking. Something was different with these ones though. They seemed more at odds, stand-offish. I couldn't make out much of them from a distance, but I knew they were something big in all of this.
At ground level, I did another quick sweep and quickly moved across from one set of stairs to the other. The stairs at the bottom of the panopticon was blocked by a chain-link gate, an electronic lock keeping it latched to the fence frame. However, the lock itself was actually open, released rather than broken. Implied somebody either already had been or was up there. Bonus for me was they'd at least neglected to close the door behind them. I crept through the gate and let it remain open behind me. Maybe someone would follow after me, but I didn't want to risk the electronic bits making noise of their own accord. Wasn't worth the risk for a sense of security that would only slow me down in the long run.
I began to once again climb the stairs as they slowly worked their way around the perimeter of the tower. They were steep and a fast climb to the office overhead, but they still brought me around the back of the tower, right in view of the inmates I'd seen back there. I was above them, so the odds were better they weren't going to see me. But better didn't mean the odds were zero. I glanced over them a few times as I went. It was definitely a matter of business between them, whatever it was. Had to imagine they represented at least four different groups. Kinda reminded me of some of the deals I'd see going on between the Omertas inside Gomorra. At least one group was the White Fang, another must've been for the bandits outside Vale's walls. The others must've been for gangs inside them. The guy I'd pressed for info said there were guys in here for the Xiongs. Made them a relation to Junior. Who I hadn't thought about since he'd tried to bump off Yang and kill us both. Another problem I'd deal with if I ran into him again. The others I couldn't pick up.
But they were clearly settling accounts. Wouldn't be long before somebody decided it was time for the final push.
I finished climbing the stairs and slipped into the office. This door I closed behind me.
The room was dark, and the lights were dim, but at least they were on. I could see the rest of the Wing through the blacked out windows, and knew they couldn't see me. There were a few lockers in the room, spaces where there should've been more. Looked like they'd been meant for holding equipment. There was a meeting table in the center, which had papers on it, files for the prisoners. Along one edge of the room was a bank of controls. Had to imagine they were meant for the lights. Aside from them was another console and terminal set up. It had multiple displays, and what looked to be a map on one of them.
I made my way to the terminal and pulled my Scroll up.
"Penny?" I called, keeping my voice low, even being behind cover. "I managed to make it to the office at the back of the wing. The terminal in here should be able to reset everything, right?"
There was a long pause as I made my way over to the terminal. But eventually, Penny's voice clipped back in. "Yes, that should be it. But he doesn't know how to."
"I'll handle that," I told her. "Just be on standby in case I need something."
Standing full, I reached the terminal and began working at it. Quick judgement said the map was a list of the cells and their doors. Judging by a number of flashing lights, their locks had been disengaged. Either by a loss of power, or somebody choosing to release them. At this point there was no sense in worrying about that, so I ignored it and began parsing through the menus, checking what options were available to me. I needed to figure out what, again, simply wasn't working, and what was actually broken. Similar to how the server had worked, there was a tool for diagnostics. A couple keystrokes pulled it up, and a simple black and white readout flashed on screen.
*CELL 1-01 POWER:ERR. / LOCK:ERR.; WARNING: CELL INTEGRITY MAY BE COMPROMISED
*CELL 1-02 POWER:ERR. / LOCK:ERR.; WARNING: CELL INTEGRITY MAY BE COMPROMISED
*CELL 1-03 POWER:ERR. / LOCK:ERR.; WARNING: CELL INTEGRITY MAY BE COMPROMISED
*CELL 1-04 POWER:ERR. / LOCK:ERR.; WARNING: CELL INTEGRITY MAY BE COMPROMISED
*CELL 1-05 POWER:ERR. / LOCK:ERR.; WARNING: CELL INTEGRITY MAY BE COMPROMISED…
There was a long list of items like that on the list, and I scrolled past them. I'd already figured that much out, and needed to get to the part that would actually help me. Which I did, more than halfway down the list.
*EXTERIOR TERMINAL 01 POWER:ERR. / OPERATIONAL STATUS:ERR; WARNING CELL BLOCK SECURITY COMPROMISED
*LOSS OF POWER DETECTED SYSTEM REBOOT REQUESTED. ADMINISTRATIVE ACTION MAY BE REQUIRED.
The responses didn't put me at ease, but they took the edge off. The power had been suddenly cut and the system likely couldn't handle it. The reboot might've corrupted some data and left unresolved queries. A proper reset wouldn't fix it, but having a clean slate would still have the same effect as my overriding the server. It would let me access the controls at the security door and seal the wing off. That's all I needed it to do.
I closed the readout and began looking through the menus. The system command menu was nestled inside a couple of others, when I found it. A quick flip through the options led to the administrative option to begin a system reset. A button tap later and the terminals went black. Immediately they blinked back to life and began scrawling code over the screen. Startup processes, runtime checks.
*SYSTEM RESET IN-PROGRESS: 0.0%
*SYSTEM RESET IN-PROGRESS: 0.5%
*SYSTEM RESET IN-PROGRESS: 1.2%
'Come on- SERIOUSLY!?'
I figured that the system reset wouldn't be fast, but it was measuring progress in tenths of a percent. There wasn't anything I could do for it either. Either I waited for the system to properly reset itself, or left and took my chances elsewhere.
All it meant was more time for things to go wrong.
I looked out through the windows of the panopticon and watched the inmates as they went about their business. How long it was before they made their play, I had no idea. But they were getting restless. If they left before the system was actually ready, it would all be pointless.
Rather than think about the negative alternative, I put my mind elsewhere. Pulling up my Scroll again, I switched back to the main channel with everyone, volume low.
"Alright, I'm working to get the wing sealed off," I said. "Things are looking a bit tough in here, how's everyone holding up?"
"We're pushing them back!" Jaune answered, almost sounded like he was shouting. "The guards from the armory are trying to get their people armed. We'll at least have them helping us soon."
"Not soon enough," Ren grunted, shots rattling off near him.
"Sounds like you're all having fun in there," Coco answered, a roar echoing around her voice. "We're holding up out here… Think I can see Bullheads in the air over Vale. Looks like they're moving towards us."
"What're the odds they're not on our side?" Yatsu asked, sounding more amused by the idea than annoyed.
"Not high," I told him. "The White Fang are doing this because they need the hardware. They're not going to risk what they've got left if everything's going to go wrong."
"I hope so," Velvet huffed. "I'm running low on grenades."
"How low?" I asked, mentally cursing.
"Low, but I've got a few left," Velvet answered, chaste. "Sorry, I know you said to watch how many I used."
"Don't be," I told her, rubbing my chin. "Better they get used trying to hold the line than sitting useless in my locker."
"I'll help you find some more!" Nora squawked, the heavy thud of her hammer blows echoing with her. At least she was restraining how much she was using the grenade launcher.
"Yippee," I droned, letting the line fall silent for a moment. "… You with us girls, Sun?"
Again the answer wasn't immediate. There was a stretch where the air was just open and dead. That it was silent meant that they weren't fighting, and could mean they weren't in position yet. It also could mean they weren't fighting and were in trouble.
Half into a heart attack later, Ruby answered.
"We're at the arsenal," she said. "We're… surveying?... is that the word… Yeah, that."
"Ok," I said, letting out a slow breath. "How's it looking?"
"… Not good," Ruby decided. "They got a bunch of people here, a couple wearing uniforms… They're working fast, and we're trying to figure out what we need to do to stop them…" Another pause. "… Okay, I think we know what we're doing. We can't wait for you to get here, they're going to escape if we don't do something."
"I understand," I said, checking the terminal again. The system was loading faster. Just not fast enough.
*SYSTEM RESET IN-PROGRESS: 56.2%
*SYSTEM RESET IN-PROGRESS: 61.7%
*SYSTEM RESET IN-PROGRESS: 68.9%
"…I'll be with you as fast as I can," I said. "I've got faith you can do this."
"We do too," Ruby said, a smile in her voice. "We're going to have to do this now, see you soon."
"Same," I told them, and let the line close.
That's how it was going to have to play. I couldn't get to them until this was done. Couldn't risk leaving it half finished. But I knew I was running out of time. The inmates below were starting to rally themselves. It wouldn't be long before somebody gave the signal to start moving, and things would really start getting out of hand.
I wasn't going to let anyone leave, not if I could stop it. Just didn't want to face those odds if it came down to it.
Waiting for the reset to finish felt like it took an eternity. All the while, the inmates were grouping up. I spied through the glass that the leaders were starting to move back around the tower. Soon they'd be making for the exit of the cell block.
My gaze flashed back and forth between them and the terminal.
*SYSTEM RESET IN-PROGRESS: 93.3%
*SYSTEM RESET IN-PROGRESS: 97.2%
*SYSTEM RESET IN-PROGRESS: 99.1%
*…
The terminal screen blinked, and I was back at the console's main menu. Quickly I ran back through the menus, fighting through the system's buffering, trying to race my typing speed against how fast the inmates were walking.
Voices started to clamor from the front of the tower, echoing through the block. They were rallying.
I ran the diagnostics tool. All the errors began to flash across the screen again. The ones I wasn't going to have time to fix. But I didn't need to. The one I needed to make work was the only one I cared about. I shot to the bottom of the list.
*EXTERIOR TERMINAL 01 POWER:NOMINAL. / OPERATIONAL STATUS:ACTIVE;
*EXTERNAL LOCKDOWN ADVISED
Accompanying this, my Pip-Boy let out its telltale grind of accomplishment.
-Complete: Figure out how to re-initiate lockdown.
-Objective: Re-initiate lockdown.
I let out another breath, this one tense.
It worked. The system was fucked but I could at least shut the damn door.
Now came the problem of getting back to it.
Stepping away from the Terminal, I began to plot how I'd get back to the mouth of the cell block. As it was, I needed to get back there fast, before any of the inmates could make their play. Once guys started getting out, I'd have to deal with them opening the place back up. Better to just get ahead of them. Getting noticed wouldn't be as much a problem as long as the door was actually working. If it wasn't I'd have the lot of them bearing down on me while knowing it wasn't going to close. The catwalk had at least proven I could move over them without being caught. If I could at least get back to the first set of stairs, I could probably make a break for the doors. If everything was actually working right, I could get the doors locked down before they had a chance to react. If they weren't, then I at least had them going through a choke point while I worked out what to do.
Other than that, the only thing to do was get there. Assuming there wasn't a secondary override inside the tower. No pressure.
I slipped back through the door out of the tower and flew down the stairs. There was no one close by, for now. Most of the inmates were still moving closer to the mouth of things, congregating about halfway to the corridor, in the middle of the cell block. The group that'd been near the panopticon, leaders I guessed, were starting to get their attention. By the point I hit the stairs, people were stirring. I climbed two steps at a time and came up onto the catwalk. Would've slid into a crouch if the grating wouldn't have chewed me to pieces. Instead I had to lower myself into one and begin quickly waddling my way back across the room, racing to do it before the guys in the center of the room wrapped up whatever speech they had planned.
"Alright, listen up… Hey… HEY!... SHUT THE FUCK UP!" one of the leaders shouted, trying to get them all to pay attention.
In the interest of escaping, I kept moving and hoped he hadn't just seen me. Put a feeling in my gut that only intensified as the collected inmates actually stopped clacking their jaws.
"You gonna listen now?" the leader asked, a woman. Brief look said she had tattoos and dark hair. Couldn't pick out more than that. "… Good. We've come to terms."
"Breaking lockdown and getting this far was a good bit of work," another said, a man, lighter voice. "But we aren't done yet. As most of you can see, we're not out of here yet."
Had to applaud his grasp of the obvious, but refrained from doing so.
"You've all only gotten this far because of my group's efforts," yet another voice spoke. Male, sounding like he had a wad of phlegm at the back of his throat. "The White Fang pays its debts. We expect ours to be paid in kind."
There was a small grumbling of agreement from the gathered inmates and criminals. While the old saying went that there was no honor among thieves, I'd spent enough time around criminals to know the truth. Everyone was willing to stab each other in the back if the price was high enough, or they had no ties to each other. But all the same, there was a hierarchy and order to things. The Powder Gangers had one, the various organizations during my bounty hunting days had them, and even the Fiends had one. Best example I could think of were the Khans. Brutal, lawless, and gray as they were, even they had some standard they held themselves to. Unless they were given a damn good reason, they kept to their word, and didn't try to stab you in the back.
Granted, they'd stab you in the front instead, but at least you knew why they were spilling your guts.
That much didn't change here. Especially when they all had a common goal.
"The way's opened and freedom is on us to get," The first woman spoke again. "We've all got our own people waiting on the outside to help us disappear."
"Unless you're a Xiong, in which case you're fucked," a voice rose up from the crowd.
"Screw off Schmidt!" another voice called from the crowd. "At least we don't have to go back to molesting cattle!"
"It's rustling!" The first voice retorted.
"Both of you shut up, or we'll leave both of you behind to bleed!" a fourth voice, another female, shouted. Sounded like another of the leaders.
Silence settled back over them as I continued creeping. I was at about the halfway mark of the catwalk. Just a little further and I'd be in the clear to make my break.
Recovering from that little outburst, the White Fang's leader continued. "My people are currently doing their part outside the prison's walls, and we will be moving to join them shortly. That they haven't breached them yet, means that something has not gone according to plan. However, I don't think that'll be enough to stop anyone here, will it?"
There was a general murmur of derision. Of course that wouldn't, they were the guys in Maximum Security, not the general population. They had a lot less to lose.
"Assuming Mr. Everglade was correct in his assumption, the authorities will be too occupied to stop us," the phlegmy one said. "As long as we can escape, simply going to ground will be enough to satisfy all parties. Though I'm sure we've all got personal business to attend to as well."
"If anything, the White Fang encourages you to pursue them. At your own risk and leisure, of course," their leader added. "What rewards and gratification you seek will be your own, regardless of whether you succeed. The simple fact that you'd try at all works to our benefit…" There was a pause as they spoke. Again I got that feeling in my stomach as I moved. That momentary churn that felt like their eyes were on me. But then they resumed. "… However, if any of you intend to act in a fashion that would impede our mission, I will warn you now. Don't. This warning is purely a courtesy, and the only one you'll be getting. Our mission here in this Kingdom does not concern you."
Three quarters of the way there. Just a little further and I'd be in sprinting distance of the stairs. I'd already passed the door of the inmate I'd knifed, the bloody water finding its way under the door said he was gone.
"If you, or those you work with, decide to make our mission your concern it shall end in one way. I will tell you all now: we do not take kindly to interlopers." The leader pressed on, an edge in their voice. "The war we've fought has been a long and bloody one. It started with our revolution, and has not ended since. We've killed, maimed, and destroyed more people than any of you will ever know for the sake of our beliefs. We have died for them as well, and will do so fearlessly again. Our goals have evolved. Our means have not. You all do as you do to profit. Work in concert with and respect us, and you will find yourselves rich indeed."
Right as I reached the last door on the catwalk, I had enough and stood up.
"Cross us, and only a few of you may survive long enough to understand the true meaning of the phrase 'to suffer the consequences.'" The leader was almost growling now. A final hammering of how thoroughly he wanted his point understood. "An emphasis on the word suffer."
My feet bolted forward, carrying the rest of my body with them. I shot past the first door and rounded onto the stairwell. I practically slid down the rails rather than touch the steps as I flew down the, reaching the landing in a blur. Feet touched down and I bolted for the exit, pushing my Aura into my stride. It was happening fast enough that no one had responded yet. No alarm, no shouts. I just had to keep moving.
Then a pickup-truck launched out of the shadows beneath the stairwell, moving at full speed.
I heard the footfall echo off the concrete behind me, hammering the ground like a supersledge. Hard and powerful strides, something metallic crackling and scraping with each impact.
My body wrenched around mid-stride and snapped VATS open. The only thing I'd done was react in time to fight back, but what I saw was blurred and shadowed. The low-light vision of my mask only had time to show me a massive body, thick with muscle and a flash of teeth.
VATS closed, and my finger rattled against the trigger, loosing a trio of shots that rang through the cell block. Three 12.7mm slugs hammered the target at center mass, their Aura flaring at the impact. But it didn't stop them, it hardly even seemed to slow them down. Their hand shot out at me, as I wrenched back around, and I rolled forward. It killed my run, but put me out of their grasp for a moment.
Immediately, I rounded back on them, strafing towards the side, trying to keep myself angled in line with the doors. My assailant was on me even as I cracked off a fourth shot, this one only barely missing their side.
"Come here!" the voice boomed, gravelly, and growling. His massive hands clawed at me and I backpedaled, barely slipping one strike, narrowly catching the tip of another. Even that small blow carried great force behind it. Threw the muzzle of Clark's rifle away from them.
But even as I tried to keep away from them, and move towards the exit, they bore down on me. Trying to strafe ahead of me, lead me the way they wanted. Their stride gave them a distance advantage, even if their size should've said they needed to move slower. There was even a brace around one of their legs, supporting the knee. But quickly they outpaced me, cutting off my path to the exit. They swung at me again, diving towards me, a scaly hand only narrowly missing my head as I ducked and sprang back.
I whipped the muzzle of Clark's rifle towards them again and fired, rattling off another trio of shots.
Again they ate them. This time their Aura didn't even flicker. Either it'd broken, or I'd gotten past it.
They didn't stop as they continued their assault.
"I've waited for this!" my assailant roared. "You got lucky last time!"
Realizing being conservative with my ammo wasn't going to save me, I dumped the magazine into them. The shots were deafening as the noise filled the air. Their effect, minimal, if anything. At the same time I continued to try and reorient myself, get around them and out of close quarters. They wanted to drag me into a brawl and I couldn't let that happen.
Even as I tried that, the other inmates had taken notice, and people were moving. I could hear them all moving, like waves washing to the shore.
My hand released the mag and tried to slap a new one in. But I was too slow.
My attacker made another lunge for me, and I went to dive away from him.
He swung his tree-trunk of a leg and caught me bodily with a kick. Blew me clear back the other way. I kept my grip on Clark's rifle, but I couldn't roll when I hit the ground. Instead I hit back-first, skid a short distance, head snapped back against the ground. The cushioning of my helmet dulled the blow, but not much. Whiplash had me seeing stars as I still tried to get a fresh magazine in.
My attacker dove at me, aimed right on top.
I rolled to the side and they landed beside me by a hair's breadth. Their jumpsuit was torn, and I could see their scaly skin reflecting the firelight around us. I caught the yellow glow of their eyes, and the ivory gleam of their pointed teeth.
When we'd met before, I hadn't seen him without his mask and hood. Kept me from noticing things. Like the way his ears were cropped off. Or how wide and vicious that razor-toothed smile of his was. That it wasn't a smile. That something ripped his mouth open that way.
Waylon was an ugly sonnuva bitch without the uniform.
Despite having missed me, Waylon didn't wait for me to react. His hand lashed out wrapped around my throat. Hard enough my Aura immediately flared green. I could feel the pressure of his grip as he nearly crushed my throat. He rose slowly and powerfully, dragging me up with him. At his full height, still trapped in his grip, he had me dangling off the ground. I felt myself kicking, searching for a point of purchase. I dropped Clark's empty rifle and it clattered to the ground. My hands grabbed onto his wrist as I tried to writhe in his grasp. Use him as my point of leverage as I struggled to draw a breath.
With dizzying speed, Waylon surged forward, driving me backward. Before I could blink, think on what was happening, I slammed backward against a wall of concrete. This time the padding wasn't enough. My head swam as stars passed through my vision. I couldn't breathe. My leg swung forward in a sharp kick, catching against Waylon's stomach. If he felt it at all, it must not have bothered him. Instead, he pulled me back and slammed me into the wall again.
"The pain you've put me through has been terrible," Waylon growled, squeezing tighter. I could feel my Aura wavering. "I'm going to put you through worse."
I couldn't breathe. He wanted to talk about pain, he should try the terrifying lightheaded feeling that a lack of oxygen brings. It'd only been a few seconds, but I could already tell my grip on things was slipping. I couldn't breathe. It was going to kill me. I needed to breathe.
No, I needed to think.
I opened VATS. Tried to extend what frantic time I had for as long as I could, before my nerves lost to panic and got me killed. If I didn't get Waylon to let go of my throat he was going to kill me. My Aura would go first. If he didn't crush my windpipe instantly, him bashing my head against the wall would do the job. Oddly, the bashing would be less painful. The brain damage would make it harder to tell I was in pain.
But the clock was ticking. If I didn't come up with an answer, VATS would close and I'd be screwed. I tried to think: how did our last fight go?... Oh, right.
I closed VATS. Immediately reality flooded back in and I could feel my Aura waning. If this was going to work, I needed to do it fast.
Summoning whatever Aura I could spare, I flooded it into the muscles of my leg.
Then drove my foot into the knee Waylon currently had wrapped in a leg brace.
Waylon roared as I drove my foot into his leg, and his grip on me released. I gasped, practically choking on the air as it rushed into my lungs. Waylon stumbled back, a hand flying down to his knee as he seethed with pain and rage.
As I struggled to catch my breath, my hands flew down to my shotgun. The muzzle of it swung upward as I drew it, angling from the hip. Waylon's gaze turned back to and locked on me, as he looked ready to dive back at me again.
I pulled the trigger and fire leapt from the muzzle.
Literal fire.
The slug shot from the barrel and immediately ignited in the air. The epoxy caught like petroleum as the Fire Dust reacted with the air and heat, forming a fist-sized comet of fire that only grew brighter and bigger as it traveled forward.
The slug landed square against Waylon's chest and exploded in a wash of fire, heat, and light. A wash of brilliant orange and yellow flame cascaded over and wrapped around him, acting as though he'd just been hit with a splash of napalm. It lingered over him burning and crackling as it found new fuel, the original fiery glow dying back with intensity as it took to the new fuel. Burned them the same way it burned everything they'd throw into the fire bins around us.
Waylon began to roar as the flames consumed him. At the same time, the inmates began to rush forward, realizing what was happening. Or at the very least that the interloper in their midst was proving far more dangerous than expected.
My shotgun slapped back against my side as I shot forward. My Aura was stressed, but not broken. I used it to push me forward, faster, quicker. As Waylon struggled with the fire I darted past him, swooping low to the ground and grabbing Clark's rifle. My boots skidded on the ground as I immediately turned, correcting course. I sprinted for the door without a moment's hesitation.
The inmates began to shout as I passed into the corridor, the doorway directly in front of me. I could hear Waylon, his voice echoing after me as I pushed to reach the end. Mingled with it, the slowly strangled cries of the inmates. Struggling to cram themselves into the bottle neck of the corridor. A simple tactical error that would buy me even just a few precious moments.
I leapt through the steel security door and rounded onto the terminal, adrenaline shaking my hands as I began to punch the commands in.
'Come on, come on-'
*WARNING: CELL SECURITY COMPROMISED. WING LOCKDOWN AUTHORIZED.
*INITIATE CONTAINMENT? Y/N
I punched the Y key, or as close as Remnant's script had to it, and the system kicked into motion. I could hear the hydraulics begin to spool and rumble, fluid moving through the hoses. The heavy steel doors began to rise slightly off the ground, the pressure building enough to lift them. Slowly, the doors began to drag themselves towards the center of their frame.
It was working. The doors were going to shut. Anything that tried to stop them was going to get crushed.
I took a step backwards as they did, peering back down the corridor. The inmates were shouting, and I could see the looks of panic on their faces. Before they'd even had a chance to do everything, their whole plan was about to go up in smoke. Would've flipped them the bird as the doors slid into place. Let the last thing they see until the guards eventually came to retake the wing. Would've been completely fine with me.
But that's never how this sort of thing goes.
A roar echoed from the far end of the corridor.
With fury and power, Waylon cut through the crowd like a runaway train. Body still engulfed, flames and smoke licking off him as he ran. His teeth gleaming in the firelight and scales almost an obsidian black. Anyone who'd been stupid enough to stand in front of him was mowed down. Anyone who hadn't been peeled away from him, fearing the fire.
He broke from the crowd and made for the door.
It wasn't even halfway shut.
'-fuckFUCKFUCK-'
Clark's rifle swung upward as I slapped a new magazine into the receiver. In the same motion to level the muzzle with Waylon I pulled the charging handle. Without choosing my shots I began rattling them down the corridor. I knew a bunch of them went wide, they nailed the people behind him instead and dropped them. But others were hitting them. He just acted like they weren't. A sense of confidence that worked, because it only seemed to be making him faster.
He slammed through the doorway as they were halfway closed. The fire that'd been lingering on him smoldering to embers, smoke wreathing him. Without slowing down, he launched at me.
I hit the deck and he flew over me, coming down past me and crossing the corridor, only coming to a stop as he slammed into the wall, cratering it. The muzzle of my weapon spun around to him and I pulled the trigger.
In my panic, I'd emptied the mag again.
Not missing a beat, I popped the magazine and started reloading.
"You think you just get to run away?" Waylon growled pulling himself from the wall
"Waylon!" a voice called from the security doors behind us.
It faded as I heard the door hiss shut. The cold and heavy thud of the pins sealing the door shut. I briefly looked back to it as I picked myself up, still trying to get the magazine in.
"There's no running for you," Waylon growled, rounding on me. Bits of drywall and mortar flecked off him, where he'd hit the wall. As he moved I could finally start to see him better. The fire had burned away most of his clothing, scorched his green scaly skin black, left what remained of his jumpsuit smoldering and charred, embers flecking off it.
I could see where my bullets had hit him. All center mass, ripping massive holes into him.
But the wounds were puckered shut. Not healed. I could see them weeping, but they were shut. Like the scales on his skin were forcing them closed. The places where he'd been burned, it was almost like he hadn't been. The scales were shiny and blackened, but unbroken and untarnished.
I'd hurt Waylon.
He was just tough enough not to be bothered by it.
My Pip-Boy signaled me. Even knowing I'd succeeded in my objective, I knew the one that replaced it was about to be just as complicated.
-Complete: Re-initiate lockdown.
-Objective: Reunite with your teammates at the arsenal.
Waylon's body tensed, as I finally got my new magazine in.
His teeth gleamed.
"I'm going to eat your heart."
Waylon charged at me, roaring bloody murder.