The dim, flickering light of the cold steel corridor bathed their faces, shadows stretching and warping as Lockey stood in the center of the room. His sharp gaze darted between the two, Quinn and Finn, calculating the risks, the odds, the cost of failure.
Lockey took a slow, steady breath before speaking. “Alright. Here’s the plan.” His voice was low but carried the weight of authority, honed from countless encounters with danger. “Quinn, you stay here. I’ll need your illusions to keep the guards convinced that we’re still in our cells.” His eyes locked on hers, unflinching. “If even one of them notices something’s wrong, the entire operation collapses.”
Quinn nodded firmly. “Understood.” Her voice was quiet, but there was no hesitation.
Lockey’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. His thoughts churned like storm clouds. Quinn’s illusions are perfect for this, but relying on them means leaving her here alone. If she falters, even for a second… He shook off the thought. There wasn’t room for doubt.
His eyes shifted to Finn, who stood silently,
Lockey debated the choice. Quinn’s finesse might be more useful in navigating Site 22’s labyrinth of surveillance, but I can’t risk her leaving the cell block. The cameras will catch it immediately.
Lockey turned back to Quinn. “Keep the illusions steady. Make it look like we’re here—breathing, moving, sleeping if you have to. If a guard even suspects something’s off…”
“They won’t,” Quinn interrupted, her voice firm. “I’ve got this, Master. Just focus on getting us out of here.”
The sterile chill of Site 22 seeped into every corner, the hum of distant machinery and faint clanging of boots creating a symphony of unease. The reinforced door slid shut behind Lockey and Finn, sealing them into the shadowy corridor.
Lockey moved silently, his every step precise and calculated. His sharp gaze scanned the area, his mind already mapping escape routes and potential threats. Finn followed close behind, her movements fluid but shadowed by a faint edge of anticipation.
“So,” Finn whispered, her voice barely audible over the ambient hum. “Where do you have in mind, Master?”
Lockey halted abruptly, turning just enough to glance over his shoulder. His dark eyes glinted, sharp as the edge of a blade. “What’s with this Master thing?” he said, his voice low but dripping with disdain. “It’s irritating.”
Finn hesitated for a moment, then smirked. “It’s what Quinn and I agreed on. We look up to you, you know. You don’t bend, you don’t break. You’ve got this power that makes even the most dangerous people second-guess themselves. That’s something worth admiring.”
Lockey’s expression didn’t soften, but his lips quirked into a brief, humorless chuckle. “Is that so?” His voice was dry, almost mocking. But then, like a switch, his face hardened again, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. “You can drop the pretense, Finn. I’ve already seen through you.”
Finn tilted her head, her smirk deepening. “And what exactly have you seen?”
Lockey turned away, striding forward with unrelenting focus. “Let’s continue using each other until we escape this place. That’s what you’re really after, isn’t it?”
Finn’s eyes gleamed, and under her breath, she whispered with a menacing smile, “With pleasure.”
The corridor stretched ahead, the harsh glow of the overhead lights painting every surface in shades of white and gray. The hum of security cameras was faint but ever-present, their mechanical gaze sweeping the area with cold precision.
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Lockey raised a hand, and the faint shimmer of a taut, invisible string glinted between his fingers. With a swift motion, he slashed through the air. A faint ping echoed as the nearest camera fell limp, its swivel mechanism severed cleanly in two.
“Impressive,” Finn murmured, her voice tinged with genuine admiration.
Lockey didn’t respond, his eyes fixed ahead. He moved with an unshakable confidence, as though the labyrinthine corridors bent to his will. “Stay close,” he ordered.
They ducked into a side hallway, Lockey slicing through another camera’s feed with surgical precision. Finn pressed a finger to her temple, her brow furrowing in concentration.
“Two guards ahead,” Finn said softly, her voice taking on a distant, almost ethereal quality. “I’ll handle them.”
Lockey paused, his sharp gaze shifting to her. “Quietly.”
Finn nodded, stepping forward. She didn’t speak, but her eyes seemed to glint with an unnatural light as she locked onto the approaching guards. Their movements slowed, then stopped entirely.
“What’s happening?” one of the guards muttered, his voice shaking.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Finn replied, her tone sweet but laced with malice. She raised her hand, and the guards turned stiffly, their expressions blank, marching away in perfect unison.
Lockey observed with an impassive expression. “Efficient.”
Finn shot him a sly smile. “I try.”
Lockey stopped at an intersection, glancing down both corridors. He raised a hand, signaling for Finn to wait.
“What is it?” Finn asked, her voice hushed.
Lockey didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head, as if listening to something only he could hear. Then, without warning, he turned sharply to the left.
Finn blinked, jogging to catch up. “Where are we going?”
“There’s someone I need to deal with before we leave,” Lockey said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.
Finn’s curiosity piqued. “Care to elaborate?”
“No,” Lockey replied bluntly, his pace quickening.
Finn chuckled under her breath. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Lockey didn’t dignify her comment with a response. The look in his eyes was enough—dark, calculating, and entirely unyielding.
The sterile hum of the surveillance room was broken only by the faint crackle of static on the monitors. One guard leaned forward, his brow furrowed as he cycled through the camera feeds.
“Something’s off,” he muttered, squinting at the screens. The hallways were eerily empty. “What the hell? Where are the guards on duty?”
He slammed his hand on the console, trying to reset the feed. Panic began to seep into his voice as he barked into his radio, “Unit 17, report your position! Unit 17—”
A faint sound behind him made him freeze. Slowly, he turned. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes landed on the lifeless bodies of his two surveillance partners sprawled on the floor.
Standing above them, bathed in the dim glow of the monitors, was Lockey. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but his eyes were sharp, gleaming with predatory intent.
The guard stumbled back, nearly tripping over his chair. “You—you! How the hell did you get out?” His voice cracked as realization dawned. “The keys! Where are my keys?”
Lockey stepped forward, his movements deliberate. From his pocket, he dangled the ring of keys, the metal glinting under the harsh light. “You mean these?” His voice was calm, almost mocking. A faint smirk played at the corners of his lips. “Thanks for the loan. They made planning this escape much easier.”
The guard’s face twisted in anger and fear, his hand twitching toward the emergency button on the wall. “You’d better get back to your fucking cage,” he snarled, though his voice wavered. “Once you’re here, there’s no hope of getting out alive. Be a good boy and get lost before—”
“Or what?” Lockey interrupted, his smirk deepening.
The guard’s bravado crumbled as he edged closer to the button, his movements jerky and desperate. “Or… or I’ll…” His voice faltered under Lockey’s unflinching gaze.
Lockey tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto the guard’s trembling hand. “Do you know the difference between a pig and you?” His voice was soft, almost conversational, but laced with cold malice.
The guard froze, confusion and terror flickering across his face.
“You,” Lockey said, his smirk curling into something darker, “got killed by one.”
In a blur of motion, the air around Lockey shimmered faintly. The guard didn’t even have time to scream as his hands were severed cleanly at the wrists. Blood sprayed across the room as his severed hands hit the floor with a sickening thud.
The guard staggered back, clutching the stumps of his wrists as he let out a guttural scream. His legs buckled, and he crumpled to the floor, writhing in agony.
Lockey stepped closer, his expression calm, almost clinical, as he watched the man’s futile attempts to stop the bleeding. “Screaming won’t help,” he said coldly. “You should’ve thought of that before trying to press that button.”