I push into the last training room, and shots ring out from behind the equipment in the back corner. “That you, Vasquez?”
“Fuck you, Ten.”
I laugh out. “Didn’t you already do that when I was a kid? I’m too fucking old for you now.”
“You won’t make it out alive, bitch.”
“Neither the fuck will you.” There is a group of them, between six and ten, maybe, hiding behind Vasquez, so I pull out a grenade.
“Think fast, Vasquez.”
I rip out the pin and hold it for a few seconds before tossing it to him. He catches it, but before he can toss it back, it goes off.
I’ve already ducked back out of the room and am around the corner as the walls rumble. As I walk back into what’s left of the room, Vasquez and the rest of them are spread around the room, dripping off what’s left of the light fittings now dangling down from the crumbling ceiling.
“Clearly not fast enough, Vasquez.” I chuckle at the bloody mess, but in fairness, that might not even be Vasquez.
I slip out of the back. As I get to the last door, it’s the one to the tunnels. I can see they’ve barricaded themselves in, which makes me chuckle. I wonder if they did that before they checked the escape routes.
“Father, come out, come out wherever you are!” I bellow.
“Ten, you’ve had your fun. It’s now time to atone for your atrocities and apologise. I won’t stand for this insubordination for a moment longer!” he yells, trying to sound authoritative from within the tunnels.
“No, but you’ll hide behind a barricade like the coward you are rather than face me head-on. Are you regretful of your atrocities, Father? Are you going to atone for yours? Are you going to apologise for killing Xav? What about Jacob?”
“If you put down your weapons, I will come out, and we can discuss this like civilised creatures.”
“Ah, Father. I am the motherfucking weapon.”
“Ten!” he barks at me.
I scream back at him, “My name’s not fucking Ten. I’m fucking Vic. You killed the only two people in the world I ever loved. You created this; you fucking created me. You will fucking pay at my hands!” I fire my gun at the door, cracking the glass pane. “Send him out, and I will spare you all. You have five seconds to comply. Five… Four… Three… Two… O—”
“Wait!” a voice screeches from the inside. “We’ll send him out.”
I hear scuffling as things are moved away from the doors, and Father is pushed out and falls to the floor before the door is slammed shut again.
“You traitors! I will have all your heads for this.”
“Father, you will do nothing. You are nothing; no one will miss you when you’re gone.”
“The Collective will come for you.”
“What’s left of The Collective, Father, is behind that door, and they’re going screaming into the fires ofhell with us. There’s no way out… Run!” I smile at him, and he freezes before taking off down the corridor.
His shiny dress shoes slip all over the tiles, blood streaking around the floors and walls like my very own masterpiece, my very own Picasso. I walk over to the door.
Cracking it open, I say, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Let me help you get on your way.”
I toss a grenade in and close the door as the screams rip through the tunnels before the boom. The ground shakes, and the rubble from the tunnels spews out through the door. Whether they’re dead or alive doesn’t matter. We’ll be dead soon enough. This whole mound is rigged to blow, and I’m only one click away from setting it in motion. But first, I want to see the life drained from the despicable atrocity that is Father.
“Coming, ready or not!”
I’m not going to underestimate the man, because he’s as devious as they come, and self-preservation for him comes above everything else. Still, he will head to his office to get the gun he keeps in the drawer of his desk that is nestled securely in the back of my jeans. It’s going to feel extremely satisfying to kill him with his own gun at the hand of the weapon he created.
As I head back through the corridors, I can hear crashing and shouting. “I can hear you!”
I push into his office, but he’s not there. The drawers are thrown around, and I let out a strangled laugh at the mess. Father never has a paperclip out of place, but his papers are spread across the floor. The drawers are out and strewn around the room, followingwhat looks like a major tantrum. I step out into the corridor and listen for a second, and I can hear him running and frantically tugging at doors as he tries to escape.
