“Wait!” Vas fought the urge to yell. “I don't have a way out you idiot!” He ran forward and slapped his hand against the glass. Except, there was no sound, no slap. His hand didn't stop. It passed straight through. “Oh...” He murmured. “Fair enough.”
Vas looked up to the camera, hoping it hadn't seen anything. Maybe not. The whole time the stranger had been in the room, he was in the camera's sight line, and it hadn't reacted at all. Better not to risk it though.
He stepped back from the window and towards the toilet. While he did feel like throwing up, it wasn't for that. It was the only corner of the room away from the camera's prying eyes. He stood up on it and picked up the book. The way the man had treated it, this was his ticket out.
Now that he could get a closer look, Vas could tell there was something off about it. It looked ancient, but the material didn't feel particularly delicate or fragile. And, while the book was large, it felt lighter than it should, as if its pages were made of a different material than paper. Its cover was mostly blank, but Vas could make out very faint symbols carved into the black surface. He traced them with a finger for a second, but couldn't puzzle out their exact design.
Nimble fingers gently prying it open, he teased open the cover, wondering what mysteries he would find inside. Fingers trembling, he turned it open to reveal the first page...
It was blank. Gently, he turned to the next- also blank. A little less gently he flipped to the next- also blank. Much less gently, he kept flipping- blank, blank, blank. The whole thing was blank!
In a moment of stupid rage, he considered tossing the useless thing to the floor. Thankfully, the often defeated wiser part of his brain decided against it. The man had walked through a wall. There was something to this book- a puzzle to be solved. He'd need time to solve it, but that would have to wait. He didn't know how long whatever the stranger had done to the door would last, and he was not going to find out. He needed a plan, and he needed one fast.
------
Vas walked from one end of the room to the other. The camera was following his every step. It was working again. He'd been worried that the glass too would be back to normal, but that was fine still. That was all he needed. He could work around the camera.
He looked over to the toilet, where the satchel, book inside, rested. It was time. He had a plan. Well, plan was generous, idea was better.
He fell to the floor and grasped at his stomach, twisting in pain. He moaned and groaned, loudly. Then, he rose up and darted to the toilet, where he pretended to unleash a pestilence so vile it would forever taint the metal interior.
This was all for the camera's benefit. Were anyone watching him, they would have seen him leave the sightline. They would also understand why he remained out of view.
Atop the toilet now, Vas wrapped a thick layer of toilet paper around his hands and tossed the roll into his satchel. Then, he waited, mental clock counting the seconds.
The guard walked at a steady pace for each of his rounds. Ninety-one to ninety-five seconds per rotation almost every time- almost. Sometimes he would pause, cough, scratch his ass, whatever. Then, the timing would be off. Vas needed the timing to be perfect. He couldn't see or hear the guard from his position, and the guard was his ticket out.
The camera watching his cell was the same model used everywhere on Tella, motion activated to watch the first person moving in its vision. It followed the guard with every patrol, but only for a few seconds. For those sparse seconds, however, when the guard was walking past, there was nothing watching the door. That was Vas' window. His incredibly slim window.
He took a breath, placing the satchel around his shoulder. Seven. Breath. Six. Breath. Five. Breath. Four. Breath. Three. Breath. Two. Breath. One. Go
He flung from the toilet, padded feet silent on the stone floor and turned. With no time to check, he bounded out through the enchanted glass pane, passing through it like air before his feet hit the exterior floor of the ring. He risked one glance to his left as he dashed. The guard was shuffling forward, exactly where Vas had thought he would be, the camera trained on him. It would always follow the first motion, but it wouldn't stay on the guard for long. He needed to move.
Always fast, Vas made it to the glass railing that lined the ring's interior. Unable to hesitate or reflect on the insanity of his decision, he leapt over it, grasping the top and flipping himself over, so that he hung from the other side.
His knee banged lightly against the glass, and, panicking, he risked a glance at the guard, praying he hadn't seen. The glass was clear. One look in his direction would end his plan, and his only chance.
Thankfully, the guard didn't look. He was completely oblivious to everything happening around him, humming a local tune. Not for the first time, Vas thanked the Eleven for Creighton's legendary cheapness. They'd told him for years to upgrade the cameras. He never would.
Vas had a moment to take a breath. The guard's rotation would bring his line of sight right onto him in twenty or so seconds, but Vas had at least a few of those seconds to just breathe. The first part of his plan had worked- the easy part. Now, it was time for the hard part.
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Scared to look, he turned his head down, towards the ground below. The hundred foot fall leered up at him, beckoning him to let go.
Surprisingly, he listened, releasing his hands simultaneously and letting himself fall. Time slowed as he lashed both hands out, fumbling for the railing below. The thin paper he'd wrapped earlier helped lessen the pain, but not nearly enough. The glass cut lightly into his skin, forcing Vas to bite his lip and muffle the yell.
Unfortunately though, he couldn't stop his knee from slamming near full force into the glass rail, sending out a reverberating thud. The 10th floor guard heard it and turned to the source of the sound, where he saw... nothing. Vas was already falling as he turned.
This time, the cut wasn't light. He gasped in pain as the flat glass edge dug into his skin, almost forcing him to let go. Only sheer force of will kept him on that railing. Another drop would kill him for sure. Thankfully, he didn't need to make another one.
This floor was different from the others. When he'd come up the lift he'd seen it marked. The security floor- midway up the tower. If he was going to elude the tower's defenses, he'd have to find out how to do it here.
This was as far as his plan... his idea had gone. He'd made a bet, and it worked. This floor was different from the others. The cameras were still there, the same spot they'd been on the other floors, but there were no cells and no patrolling guard. He wasn't sure where he needed to go next. Eyes glazing over with pain, he looked for something recognizable. There, twenty or so feet to his right, a bathroom. It was a start. At least it wouldn't have cameras.
Blood dripping on the glass, he sidled to his right, now unable to resist light gasps of pain. Once or twice, his weakened hands almost slipped, ending his so-called destiny then and there. But finally, after what felt like eternity, he made it.
Fighting the agony, he released one hand from the glass and reached for the satchel. Withdrawing the roll of paper he'd snagged earlier, he tossed it over the railing and to his right, where it drew the attention of one of the cameras. Then, summoning a strength he wasn't sure he still had, he hauled himself over the glass railing.
There was no time to appreciate the pain. Hands bloody, knee swelling, he hobbled forward into the bathroom, praying to all the Eleven it was empty.
By some miracle, it was. Operating almost on instinct, he started removing the blood soaked paper from his hands. The rushing water of the faucet provided some relief, and he finally got a clear look at the cuts- nasty and painful, but they would heal.
Sighing in relief, he reached for more paper and wrapped the wounds. Then, he risked a glance in the mirror. He looked awful, obviously. His hair, mangy on its best days, looking like a rat's nest. His green eyes glared back, wide and wild, like an animal. The white Tower uniform they'd given him was already stained red at various points. He looked the part of an escaped convict. That was for sure.
Even knowing he didn't have much time, he took a second to manage his hair and wash his face. They looked better, bad but better. The uniform was a different problem. He'd hoped to find something to replace it with in the restroom, but his luck didn't stretch that far. He'd have to figure something different out.
Unfortunately, he wouldn't have time for that. Outside the restroom, he heard a door open. He froze, waiting. In the hall, he could hear the soft padding of boots and a small groan. Somebody was walking towards the restroom.
Vas looked down at his uniform, white, covered with blood, an obvious giveaway. He needed to do something.
So he did the only thing that came to mind. Vas started stripping.
----
The man who walked in was one of the prison's guards, clad in the light blue uniform they all wore and wearing an intimidating rifle on his back and a less intimidating Pulser on his left waist.
He was very surprised to see a young man at the sink, naked but for his underwear, staring back at him ashamed. “Well, this is embarrassing.” Vas said.
“Who are you!” The guard yelled, reaching for the Pulser at his side.
“Hey, hey, hey, calm down.” Vas said, bandaged hands held up. “My name's Vasilius. I'm new. They moved me to patrol the 8th floor a few days ago.” The guard calmed slightly, but still seemed wary, hand close to the Pulser. “The janitors messed up- left some nasty shit on the floor. I don't want to know what it was.” He laughed. The guard didn’t. “Anyways, naturally, I slipped and fell right onto it. My uniform is ruined, covered in who knows what. And I've got this shit everywhere on me. I go to the bathroom on the 8th, but then I remember, it stopped working three days ago, and they still haven't fixed it, because they never fix shit, so...” He gestured around.
The guard finally moved his hand from his side. “I thought Clive worked the 8th.”
Vas nodded. “Yeah, but Clive's sick with lungrot. Been bedridden for weeks. Why do you think I'm here?” He smiled and shrugged. “Better here than out there, though.”
“Can't argue with that.” The man said, mostly at ease now. “It's a warzone. Orders came in to stay put, and I put out a few thanks to the Eleven for that one.”
“Agreed. I want no part of it. They tell me to go out there, I tell them the comm's breaking up.” Vas laughed. “Must be the Astrium.”
The man grinned. “Count me in on that plan.” Then, he groaned. “Anyway, I got to hit the throne. Good luck getting your uniform cleaned.”
“I don't think I'll ever get the stink out.” Vas laughed.
The man smiled and walked past Vas and to one of the stalls. He didn't notice as Vas lifted the Pulser on his left waist.
He opened the door with a theatrical groan. “Been needing to go...” He saw a white stained prisoner's uniform on the toilet. “What the...” Then, his whole body convulsed and he hit the floor. Vas was standing behind him, Pulser still a little hot.