Thankfully, my instincts seem to be correct about the stairs as I don't meet anyone on them. I'm slow to push open the door that leads out onto the third level, scanning from side to side down the considerably wide corridor to check for any OI personnel walking past. When I'm certain there's no one, I turn left and stride with confident-enough steps towards the last door at the end of the corridor, which Connor told the FISA agents was the only entrance to the containment cells.
I'm about halfway there when a door opens behind me, and people step out into the corridor. It takes a lot of willpower not to turn around on instinct to check who it is. For a handful of seconds, there's the sound of multiple voices, talking in congenial murmurs, and steps that, to my relief, seem to be moving away rather than towards me.
I slow my pace enough to wait for the voices and sounds of feet to disappear around the corner at the opposite end of the hallway. Once I'm certain I'm alone again, after throwing a discreet glance over my shoulder and keeping my head low just in case, I use Connor's access badge on a pad situated next to a windowless metal door.
Fingers mentally crossed, I hold my breath until there's a soft beeping noise, indicating the badge worked, and the door lock gives an equally quiet snick, allowing me to push down on the door handle with ease and move into the adjoining room.
There's a shorter corridor than the one I just came from, leading to another door. Once I'm through that one, I find myself faced with two rows of containment cells on either side of me. I can't see any other doors leading anywhere else, so it seems Connor was right about there being only one way in or out.
Each door of the containment cells is made of thick metal and has a small rectangular latch hinged to them, which will allow me to see inside. There are twenty cells in total, ten on each side, and I begin checking them one after the other, pulling up the latch to peer through the small window into the cramped, dingy compartment beyond. Like a prison, they have a small bunk and a toilet in every single one, but nothing else. There are no windows or lights inside the cells. Or at least no lights that are turned on.
The cells are empty of occupants until I come to the fifth one on the left. When I lift the latch and see a young man sitting up on the bed, his back to the wall, head hung down low, it takes me a second or two to recognise Rohan. His hair is longer than when I last saw him, and he's grown out his facial hair. He also looks smaller than I remember. His body was always compact and on the slim side, but now it seems as if he hasn't been eating properly at all.
I don't know if that's because he's not been fed, or if he's refused to eat for whatever reason.
He's changed so much, but when he looks up at me and I catch sight of his eyes, he seems more familiar. Even in the dimness of the cell, they stand out. Black. Pure black, like a bird.
It takes Rohan a bit of prompting to recognise me as well, those dark eyes squinting in my direction at first, as if he's trying to stare directly into the sun. When I say his name, he jerks up like he's been slapped into full alertness. My name trips from his mouth with an odd sort of clumsiness that is wholly unlike him. His lips look dry and chapped. They would probably be cracked and bloody if he were normal and didn't have superhuman-healing abilities.
"Hey, mate," I call out to him in a low voice, which sounds far more intense than I meant it to, feeling a sudden overwrought sense of urgency now I have Rohan in my sights. "Time for the epic rescue, okay?"
I don't wait for Rohan's response before pressing two fingers to the comm unit in my ear. It's been silent on the other end of the line so far, but I know North and Jack are there waiting in the wings for my go-ahead to storm the base, the camera on my jacket allowing them to see my progress and negating their need to ask for constant updates.
Well versed in communicating during undercover jobs, I use the same code that is beaten into the head of every junior agent. "Primary objective obtained, no cause for red flare."
North's deep voice comes through loud and clear over the comm line. "Report received, Agent. Beta team in position for operation storm 1365."
"Ready for beta team to breach," I respond quickly, feeling the seconds tick by too speedily, the risk growing with every one that passes. "Waiting for permission to move primary objective."
North's voice returns with a barked order of, "Stand by, Agent." I can read the warning in his tone, telling me not to try and drag Rohan out of here without any reliable backup in place to cover me. I don't answer him, unwilling to promise what I might not be able to deliver.
There's another keypad next to the cell door that I'm semi-terrified to try using, just in case it sends off an alert to whoever's manning the central security desk. It's inevitable the other OI guards will be kicked into action and try to come after Rohan and me at some point, but I'd rather put that off for as long as possible. Preferably until the storm team are already swarming the base and on hand to assist.
Rohan gets off the bed and comes over to the door. I'm wary of whatever cameras there might be inside his cell, but Rohan doesn't seem concerned. Although that could be due to his clear exhaustion. As he comes closer to the light spilling in from the small window on the door, I can see the dark circles under his eyes and the unnerving gauntness of his face. He doesn't look dirty, his hair and skin clean if overgrown and dry respectively. His clothes, a plain grey jumper and some lighter-grey jogging bottoms, remind me of an English prison outfit.
Rohan doesn't waste any time on politeness or greeting, banging his hand against the door and giving me a weary frown. "You gonna open this thing and carry me out of this bullshit cell, hero, or do I have to wait for your partner to murder everyone in the building first?"
North would say I should wait for his go-ahead or better yet not move until I have a team of FISA agents in front of me to offer cover. But I have a different plan, one I think Rohan will be slightly happier with.
"I'll let you out after I hear the signal," I tell him.
Rohan tilts his head to one side, considering me with shrewd eyes. "What's the signal?"
As if on cue, there's a sudden series of bombastically loud noises from somewhere else in the facility, unmistakable as that of small explosions and gunfire. The storm team have certainly made their grand entrance.
I give Rohan a jaunty grin and answer darkly, "Carnage."
Despite his obvious fatigue, Rohan returns my grin with something sharp and toothy of his own. "Ready, set, go; your heroic moment has arrived, Agent Snow. Try not to fuck it up and get us both killed. I'm already docking points for the month-long wait time on this rescue as it is," he exclaims, voice dry and unrepentantly mocking.
I'm starting to wonder if acerbic comments are a Liquid Onyx survivor thing; like the enhanced senses and strength, you get the ability to be casually rude to everyone within five feet of you.
Not bothering to respond, having built up a tolerance to being baited during my time as Jack's partner, I shift my attention to the keypad, silently praying it's going to work, and I won't need to find some other way of getting this door open if they've shut down security manually, or if Connor simply doesn't have the necessary access to remove a prisoner from one of the cells.
Taking a deep breath and bracing myself for potential disaster, I use Connor's badge to unlock the door to Rohan's cell. I release the same breath when the keypad beeps and allows me to push down the door handle and swing it open.
Rohan comes half staggering out of the cell the moment there's enough of a gap for him to fit through, his desperation to be free telegraphed with heartbreaking clarity.
I make a grab for him when it becomes obvious Rohan is going to struggle to walk around on his own, stumbling almost to his knees when he tries to take a few strides forward, making me even more convinced he's not been given the sustenance his genetically modified Liquid Onyx body needs. It's far easier for them to become weakened when not fed regularly.
