The rest of the night was thankfully quiet. Michael better understood Andrei's intentions: He wouldn't damage Michael's chances of survival, only his chances of sanity. He wanted to get in control of Michael's body, not to die alongside him.
Michael looked himself over; much of his body was sore and bruised, and some of his fingers were swollen, though functional. Despite just having woken up, he felt exhausted and chilled from the cold. Somehow he had managed to ignore that yesterday, likely due to his exhaustion. He would need to find a safer and, more importantly, warmer place if he were to spend another night here.
Setting off from his little nook in the woods, his priorities were clear: Find warmth, check if the gate guards had gone looking for their friends or back to the city, and then get some food; his stomach audibly protested against his plan, but Michael wasn't in the mood for discussion.
Walking through the woods with a specific destination in mind, he wondered where if he could find any sort of food around here. All he knew about surviving in nature was which mushrooms were poisonous and which were not. His father has taught him that when they used to go out into the woods to collect them. But even that didn't really apply, Michael only knew of the mushrooms native to his home. He had no clue what kind of mushrooms grew in the US, but he hoped his Encyclopedia would lend him a hand when he found some.
It took him almost a half hour to arrive at his destination. Although only a few hours had passed, the body of Carl was already being reclaimed by nature; ants were crawling over his remains.
He would have felt terrible about desecrating his victim like this, but he needed to protect himself from the elements. Michael stepped towards him and took off all of Carl's clothes. He dressed himself with two layers, the shirt being fairly clean, only stained by some mud and dirt.
The same couldn't be said about the pants; when chasing Michael, Carl had tripped over various traps, resulting in torn fabric and bloodstains on one leg, from when the big man stepped into his pit trap.
The clothes provided an additional layer of protection against the environment. Saying his silent gratitude, Michael set out for the exit of this living nightmare.
----------------------------------------
Michael peered out from his spot hidden among the trees. Near the metal gate, two men had taken up a post; one was sitting with his back pressed against a wall, looking incredibly disinterested in the scene, while the other--a redheaded man--was pacing about anxiously.
It seemed that Carl and Bernie had not returned as expected, and their partner was growing concerned. Michael presumed they did not have any way of communicating with the rest of their team, so there was no way of knowing if Carl and Bernie needed assistance or if they were just running late.
The ginger's face twisted into an animated expression as he addressed his seated colleague. Although Michael couldn't make out what was being said, he assumed the redhead suggested they search for Carl and Bernie.
The other man glanced at him before scanning the surrounding woods with indifference, likely reminding him that they had to remain at their post.
Frustrated, the ginger cop started pacing again, his steps quicker now.
----------------------------------------
Michael had thought up a plan: to do more than just flee the area. His goal was to acquire information, which he had already started to accumulate, but he lacked context. He was convinced one of the policemen could provide that missing information.
In a clearing near the gate, Michael contemplated his choices for how this could play out. He was expecting the red-haired cop to show up soon, but if not, he planned on luring his clueless cohort into a trap. Though it might make it harder, he was sure it would work either way; he felt confident about that. Even if things went wrong here, or if the ginger arrived with his partner, Michael still saw that as a success, his escape route would be wide open.
He used Bernie's axe as a makeshift hoe and began digging holes, about the size of his feet. Not all were dug in this spot; there were nearly thirty spread around the area and surrounding trees. But that was just the first step.
Next he set about sharpening enough sticks that stepping into them would cause extreme pain, then he covered up everything with dirt and dead leaves and branches. The final move was to wait until the ginger cop's patience ran out and he ventured off into the woods.
----------------------------------------
Michael had taken longer to complete the task than he anticipated. By the time he was done, it was already afternoon—something his grumbling stomach and the sun high in the sky reminded him of. He paused briefly, allowing himself a short break, before heading towards the gate, moving cautiously and staying out of sight as much as possible. Although he assumed he was the cops would not resort to setting up traps, he didn't want to underestimate his opposition.
When he reached a spot from which he could observe the gate, he got a nasty surprise. The ginger cop was gone and only his companion was left.
With renewed caution, Michael kept an eye on the cop; but when several minutes passed and the ginger ex-cop still didn't appear, Michael resigned himself to being stuck with the more difficult of two options.
Positioning himself as close to the gate's open field as possible, Michael set up his own impromptu performance space. He stepped away from the protective cover of the trees, ensuring he was in full view of the sluggish guard.
The man glanced his way but gave no other indication that he had noticed him.
But then it all became clear. Spinning around he saw a ginger-haired cop emerge from the forest directly between Michael and his field of traps. Instantly alert, the previously indolent guard strode towards him, gripping an axe at his hip. "Could you explain what those weapons are doing on your belt?" he asked, indicating to Michael's collection of tools.
Michael felt his fingers close around the cold metal of the weapons, his knuckles turning white. He knew survival was no longer an option. His heart raced as he tried to come up with some way out of this, but there was none - it was only a matter of time until his fate would be sealed.
"Why are you doing this?" he croaked, in a voice barely above a whisper.
"We are asking the questions!" snarled the Scarred Cheek, who stepped forward and gripped his axe tightly. "What happened to the two men that followed you?"
There was deadly silence as both cops drew their own weapons, forming a tight circle around Michael as he gradually retreated back, towards the metal wall behind him. They were herding him.
"What's going on, not in the mood to talk anymore?" the bored cop prodded.
Let me deal with them.
What? His fucking past self, did he know this was going to happen?
"Throw away your weapons and this can still end in an arrest. I am sure this is all just a big misunderstanding," called out the ginger. This close he could tell the short cop was barely a man, couldn't be a day over twenty. He moved closer, circling like a vulture ready to pounce on its prey.
You can't survive this, I can.
This wasn't a good time to play control games.
"He won't throw the weapons away, he is guilty, look at him," Scarred Cheek sneered. "We will end him here and now. Then we can go and look for the others," said the Scarred Cheek, playing the role of the bad cop.
I can keep us alive.
There was no way he would ever let Andrei back behind the wheel.
"There's always a way to end this peacefully, tell us what we want to know and everything will be okay," lied the Ginger.
You will die here.
He was a monster, murderer and worst of all, a liar. You can never trust a liar.
"Enough, just chop him limb from limb," snarled Scarred Cheek, suddenly not so bored.
I don't want to die.
They wouldn't die here, they wouldn't.
"One last chance. Drop the weapons and tell us what happened to our team."
Terror coursed through Michael's veins as the two policemen converged upon him and commanded his surrender - a death sentence. His brain was whirl of ideas, thoughts, calculations, searching for some way to survive. In some scenarios he managed to take one of the cops with him, but that was a rare minority. Every single attempt ended with him dead.
Well, there was one that he couldn't calculate, it was uncertain, chances to live unknown. One where he opened the lock in his mind.
Closing his eyes, he retreated into his bunker and there it lay, his lifeline in a corner - the key. Turning, he beheld the cabinet of his nightmares hidden within.
He had promised himself, his family, Andrei that he would become a better person, yet here he was moments away from breaking that vow.
But without taking this risk he would surely die. Clutching the key in hand he approached the cabinet, last doubts binding his fingers from turning it.
Scarred Cheek and Ginger looked on perplexed as their target simply stood against them with eyes closed, yet unyielding, with weapon raised defensively.
Michael turned the key, a sound like thunder filled the room, the cabinet doors exploding outwards. Something began emerging from the cabinet with an unearthly force. Outstretched hands reached for Michael and dragged him inside as another version of him stepped out from the shadows - Andrei.
Eyes filled with ecstasy was the only thing Michael noticed before he found himself in Andrei's place, closed in the confines of darkness, watching the outside world through tiny peepholes in the door. He had chosen life over death - but at what cost?