They spent a long time in silence after that. How long would have been hard to tell, if not for the computers and various monitoring equipment. The regular beeping, while maddening, helped track the slow hours as they passed.
Once convinced that his limited range of movement wasn't going to help get him off that damn table, Nagi spent the time with his eyes closed, trying to resurrect any spark of his telekinesis. Meditation had not been his strong suit, though Estet had made sure to pound it through his thick skull--mostly because his power was always *there*, and he'd never really needed to concentrate to get to it before. If anything, he'd had to concentrate not to use it.
But now that was no longer the case. And him running scared of the numbed places in his head would not do him any good--he *needed* to find a way around it. With that in mind, Nagi settled down to concentrate, slowing his breathing and focusing on the rhythms of his body. His power was there....somewhere. It was a part of him...and Dr. Evil couldn't take that away just through some random drugs.
It took a long time before he was proved right--but he was. His regular breathing hitched in excitement as once again he 'reached'....and this time got a dim flicker of response. He could 'feel' things again....fuzzily, to be sure, but he was no longer headblind. Fighting down the overwhelming feeling of relief, he brought himself back to the task at time. No time to celebrate, Prodigy. Get moving. he told himself, pretending it was Schuldig at his obnoxious worst.
Eyes still closed, he 'reached', feeling for that quick-release lever Tsukiyono had described. Down by his feet, underneath the table....ah--there! A telekinetic tug, and it was tripped--and he was free.
Omi had done exactly as he'd said he would. . . it took the boy less than two minutes to put himself to sleep. Now he was awake, although he pretended otherwise.
No one's come in. . . nothing's changed on the monitors. . . Rustling fabric caught his attention. Damn. He did it. Thinking rapidly, Omi tried to choose the best course of action. Asking the other boy to contact Kritiker was rejected; breach security like that and frankly he'd rather they not come and get him. But Nagi might loosen his bindings before taking off. . . the question was, would that gain him anything when his jailers came back?
Nagi yanked himself free of the wrist restraints first, detaching himself from the various sensors and other paraphernalia he'd been hooked up to. No time to waste. They'll notice the change in the computers soon enough. Then came torso and ankle restraints, and he swung himself to the floor--only to have his legs crumple underneath him.
"....kuso!" he hissed, catching himself on the edge of the surgical table he'd just left. It felt like someone had replaced all his bones with rubber--nothing wanted to support his weight. Just his luck--he had his power again, but his damned *body* was still out for the count. He glanced over at the other table. Better do this now, before trying for the door. He concentrated, and the trigger on Tsukiyono's restraints tripped as well--followed by the rustle as buckles undid themselves.
That done, he focused on heading toward the door, staggering and using counters for support. Nagi wasn't at all sure he could get out of the building in his condition--but maybe one of them could get far enough to get a message out. At the very least, he'd doubled their chances...
Precious seconds were wasted, spent in shock. He. . . never *mind*, Tsukiyono. Doesn't matter why he did it! Go! Sitting up, the young assassin took less care than his companion had in ridding himself of the medical equipment invading his body. Once it had been stripped aside, Omi pulled one length of nylon strapping free.
Gritting his teeth, he braced himself properly and pulled. The grating, wet pop of a joint relocating filled the room; panting, Omi gave himself no time to rest before strapping his leg back together. A quick look around confirmed that there was nothing mobile that would work as a crutch. Determined to make do without, the boy slid carefully off the table, weight resting on his good leg for now.
Nagi made it to the door without falling flat on his face--a fact he was grimly proud of. Sliding to his knees, he inspected the latch. Shit. Electronic lock as well as physical. He glanced over at his shoulder at Tsukiyono, who'd just gotten mobile, switching to Japanese for clarity. "Is there anything in here that will unlock this?" He *really* did not want to have to cross that room again unless he had to...
"Hai," Omi gritted out, trying to breathe . . . normally was right out, but some sort of steady pattern would be deeply appreciated. Focusing his entire attention on the terminal five feet away, the assassin's world narrowed to the goal, and reaching it. Each lurching step threatened to send him to the floor, leg a useless lump of flesh, but that would mean failure. As failure was completely unacceptable, Omi somehow managed another step, and then another, literally aware of nothing except the pain and the diminishing distance to the keyboard.
His head swimming, the boy misjudged where he was, and ended up half bent over the edge of the keyboard panel, wheezing harshly as his lungs struggled for oxygen. Blinking rapidly, Omi waited impatiently until his vision cleared, spots fading enough for him to see what he had to type.
Dr. Evil hadn't bothered to secure the workstation. Getting the door open was the work of moments, once he could start.
As soon as he heard the lock click open, Nagi eased the door open a crack, bracing himself against the wall. The hallway outside was deserted...except for one guard, posted not too far away. Easy enough to deal with.
You're going to *die*, Nagi thought at him, and suited action to words, wrapping a telekinetic vise around the man's throat. The guard gasped and stumbled, hands rising to claw at the invisible force choking him. Nagi took a few moments to enjoy the man's struggles--then broke his neck. Rest in pieces, bastard.
"Hallway is clear. Come on." He glanced over at Tsukiyono to check his progress.
Omi had made it all the way back to his table, solely because Nagi took the time to toy with his victim. Leaning heavily on his palms, the assassin raised a drawn, white face to shoot the other boy an incredulous look. "So go, idiot! I don't care if you are still half-full of happy juice, I can't keep up. Not yet, anyway," he muttered. If he could just make it as far as Nagi's old cage, he might be able to cannibalize a crutch. That would let him move as fast as an arthritic tortoise, at least. . .
Nagi gave him a narrow look. Why do you think I let you out, Tsukiyono? It wasn't so you could stagger around in here, that's for sure. Reaching out, he 'grabbed' the other boy and lifted him over to the door. Once Tsukiyono was deposited, Nagi took the chance to eye the boy's knee critically.
"You fucked that up properly, that's for sure. And I'm *not* going to carry you out of here. Can you walk on it anyway?"
Wide-eyed, Omi gripped the door frame with a white-knuckled hand. Knowing the other boy could move things around like that was one thing. . . having it done to him was something else entirely.
Given his dislike of gaping like a fool, ingrained habits came to the fore. Before Nagi looked away from his knee, one of the young assassin's hands lashed out, landing a solid clout on the telekinetic's ear. "Oi! You ask before doing shit like that!"
Reflexively, Nagi struck back--but pulled the punch an inch before it connected. What the hell!? He gave Tsukiyono a baffled look, backing up out of striking range. "Why? You want to waste more time?"
"I don't give a shit about time! You do not do that to me without asking!" Still glaring, Omi lapsed into Spanish and launched into a muttered discourse on the other boy's intelligence (or lack thereof) and probably spawning from an inbred family line. He would have said the same in Japanese if it weren't for the small voice in the back of his head pointing out that he was mostly mad because he'd been scared.
As that topic was not up for review, Omi started dragging himself down the hallway, leaning heavily on one wall. "I can yank part of that cot for a crutch. I'll be fine," he interrupted himself to say, not looking back at Nagi.
Fucking normals... "Fine. Whatever," Nagi shook his head, and headed for the downed guard, staggering more than a little himself. Once he got to the body, he went down to one knee rather faster than he'd intended--once his knees started to bend, they didn't seem to want to *stop*. Hissing in frustration, Nagi searched the body efficiently, grabbing the dead man's ID card key, as well as a few random hard keys. I need to find a phone. A computer. Something to get a message out...
Keeping his back to the opening, Omi let Nagi get on with whatever he was doing, concentrating on dismantling his second cot of the day. The few tears forced out when he had no choice but to rely on his bad leg once were quickly wiped away, and a few longer piping pieces lashed together into a crude crutch. Much flimsier than he would have liked, but it would do.
Moving a bit easier, Omi limped back to the cell opening. "Do you know where we are?" Now that he'd had more time to think, the fact that the other boy had been expecting this apparently random assault was bothering him more and more.
Nagi shook his head. "No clue. I was unconscious when they brought us in." Struggling to his feet once more, he headed down the hallway. Either Tsukiyono would keep up or he wouldn't, but right now Nagi couldn't afford to wait for him. They needed to keep moving, make as much progress as they could before the alarm was raised.
He hit the doorway at the end of the hall, and swiped the guard's card in front of the electronic lock. A beep, and the lock clicked open, letting Nagi creep through silently.
Struggling to keep up, Omi barely managed to catch the door before it swung shut. Getting it open again needed more leverage than he could comfortably supply, and the boy was white-faced by the time he made it into the exterior hallway. Half collapsing against the wall, he panted for breath, taking the time to survey his surroundings.
Something about the overly-controlled climate made him think they were underground. Guess the first step is finding out what's above. Won't know how to get somewhere safe until I know where I need to *go*... As there was only one exit, a staircase heading up some distance to the left, he started limping in that direction. The way his knee ground against itself was. . . disturbing.
Registering the sound of Tsukiyono struggling behind him, Nagi didn't comment. Instead, he flattened himself against the wall, moving slowly down the corridor. There were no other guards--yet--but there were more doors here, and halls branching off this one that provided far too many blind corners to make him comfortable.
No handy maps or signs, either. Dammit. Just white tile, pale blue walls and featureless doors with bearing cryptic plates like 'M-G Lab 004-02A'. Definitely a research institute of some kind. Nagi flicked a glance back at Tsukiyono, who was heading for some stairs. Does he know something? It might be better to split up, though... Deciding to give the stairs a chance and see if they led anywhere, Nagi followed. Just one window. That's all I ask.
Stairs were difficult enough that Nagi had more than enough time to catch up. Omi had gritted his teeth, devoted a brief moment to wondering if he was really sure up was out, refused to contemplate where that knowledge was coming from, and started hauling himself along. Between the railing and his crutch, the boy was able to spare his bad leg, but progress was slow and tedious.
The door at the top of the stairs was heavy, solid. . . and wooden. It looked far more like a residential door than an institutional one, for all it had been painted white at some point.
It was also secured by another electronic lock. Wordlessly, Omi leaned against one wall of the landing, leaving room for Nagi to get by.
Nagi was panting heavily at this point, from the effort of forcing rubbery muscles work in ways they *definitely* did not want to do. He set his teeth, struggling upward and hating the fact that he looked so weak in front of Tsukiyono.
Placing his hands on the door, he leaned one ear against it. He could feel the humming of machinery, but he couldn't hear or 'feel' anyone on the other side... Sliding over, he swiped the guard's key one more time, and the door unlocked with a heavy *clunk*. He didn't bother trying to open it by hand--instead he pushed it open telekinetically, grimacing faintly at the weight. This door was far too heavy to be only wood--no doubt reinforced. He stepped out onto the landing--then blinked, taken aback by the elegant furnishings and polished wood floors that met his gaze.
"...what the hell?" This didn't look like a lab. It looked like someone's house--no, *mansion*.
The silence from behind him was rather blank. Omi was blinking at the elegance in front of them, thoroughly confused. ". . . good question?"
Automatically, he marked off certain parts of Tokyo as not containing any residences like this. Not that he was used to calculating around wealth like this. The boy didn't think he'd ever seen anyplace like this before! It was oddly intimidating, empty and silent as it was.
He looked rather doubtfully at Nagi. ". . . which way?"
Nagi shot him a Look. How the hell should I know? "Window," he said briefly. Wherever they were, they still needed *out*. He started to head for a doorway spilling sunlight into the room--then changed his mind as he spotted a phone. "....wait." He headed for it. Getting a message out was first priority.
Resettling his crutch, Omi did not wait, but instead began heading for that abandoned doorway. As slow as he was moving, he'd probably get there about the time Nagi finished his call. . . and there was no point in trying to overhear that. He couldn't do anything about it, whoever the other boy was trying to contact, and it wasn't like he could call Kritiker in front of the telekinetic! Nagi had never mentioned the other agency, which meant part of his job was keeping security.
With his back to that second room, Omi didn't see two patrolling guards turn the corner. They paused briefly, looking startled by the two wobbling youths in front of them, then split up with a few quiet hand-signals. One swiftly came up behind Omi, while the other headed for the doorway Nagi had just vanished through.
Caught up in his single-minded focus on the phone, Nagi didn't hear the guard coming. He had a split second of warning as the man lunged--then one steely hand settled around his wrist, crushing it and making him drop the receiver, while the another arm wrapped around his neck and lifted him off the floor.
"All right, boy. Funtime's over," the guard commented, sounding almost bored. He contained Nagi's reflexive thrashing easily, well-practiced in restraining Masafumi's lab rats. He wasn't prepared, however, for the large chair that lifted up into the air in front of him...and clubbed him over the head.
The guard dropped like a rock, taking Nagi down with him. The smaller boy, half buried under a couple hundred pounds of guard and pieces of what had been a heavy mahogany armchair, lay stunned for a moment, trying to get his bearings.
Just inside his goal, Omi paused, blinking out of the window. That was. . . an awful lot of trees. Confused, and more than a little worried, he lurched forward. The tip of his crutch caught on the edge of a jewel-toned Persian rug, almost pitching the boy onto his face. Instead, he landed hard on his good knee, gasping in pain, and looked up. . . straight into the amused face of the guard who'd come into the room behind him.
Reflex had him tumbling onto his back, levering the metal bar up. . . square into the man's nuts. As he slowly turned white, gasping for air, Omi shifted his grip and swung again, as hard as he could. The crunching impact landed true, and the guard slumped over, stunned into non-responsiveness. His skull had crumpled the hollow tube, however. Dropping the now-useless crutch with a disgusted expression, Omi rolled, got within range, and neatly broke man's neck.
Then he lay there, stranded in the middle of a wide, empty floor, and wondered how the hell he was going to get back up.
Nagi shook his head, ears ringing--then recovered his bearings and scrambled for the phone. He didn't bother trying to climb to his feet--instead he yanked the phone off the table, dialing the number with shaking fingers and holding on to the receiver like the lifeline it was.
Come ON, be there, pick up... He listened to it ring, fingers white with tension. Then there was a click, and a familiar nasal voice.
//"Yeah, what?"// Trust Schuldig not to even bother trying to be polite. Nagi almost cried in relief.
"It's Prodigy."
//"Prod--" Schuldig's voice sharpened. "Where are you, kid?"//
Nagi talked low and fast, sticking to the essentials. He couldn't stay by the phone--more guards would be by any minute. "I don't know. I got captured along with my target--we both got gassed. They put us in a lab, beneath a really big mansion, I don't know where." He paused for breath. "Trace the line. I'm going to try and make it out." He bit his lip, before he could plead with Schuldig to come get him out of here. The older man would laugh at him, and rightfully so.
//"All right, kid."// Schuldig was also talking fast. Nagi hoped that meant he was setting up a trace. He heard more footsteps from the hallway, and grimaced.
"Gotta go." He tucked the phone under some of the debris, partially out of sight, and making sure the receiver stayed off the hook. Then he scrambled across the room, towards the beckoning door--and ungracefully fell to hands and knees next to Omi. Two guards.. He stopped long enough to see that the man was very much dead, then grabbed the other boy's arm. "Come ON. I'm taking us out the window." It didn't really *quite* qualify as asking...but it was close enough by Nagi's book.
Movement in the doorway had Omi sitting up, using his stomach instead of his legs after one sharp twinge, one hand fumbling for his improvised weapon. He didn't relax when he identified Nagi, glaring at the other boy.
"Oh, no you. . ." There wasn't time to protest, as Omi quickly realized when he started moving. With difficulty, he quashed the urge to yell or smack the telekinetic again, instead using the crumpled metal to lever the window open wider.
"Hey!" Came the shout from behind them, and Nagi growled under his breath.
"Would you *stop* that?" he hissed at Omi, batting the mangled crutch aside. He dumped the other boy long enough to break open the window telekinetically, glass and splinters exploding outward in his haste. Then he grabbed the Tsukiyono's arm again, half-hauling him over the windowsill. "Jump!"
"I am not a. . . " Angry retort trailing off, Omi staggered into Nagi upon hitting the ground, bad leg throbbing. In silence he adjusted his balance, weight on one leg.
He'd wondered what he'd do for a replacement crutch. Looked like he could have his choice of tree branches. They were all over the place, most still attached to broad, old-looking trees. The greenery swept away in both visible directions, plainly indicating that wherever they were, this was not simply a large house set on expensive property.
This was a large house set on extensive property a very long way away from any major industrial region. And clearly nowhere near Tokyo at all.
Rapidly coming to the same conclusion, Nagi scowled as he surveyed the forest beyond the manicured lawn. "Shit." Another shout from behind them, and the slamming of doors reminded him they weren't alone. He glanced at Tsukiyono, face grim.
"If I get you to the treeline, can you handle it from there?" Once in the trees, they could split up and maybe confuse their pursuers.
Lips pressed together in a thin line, Omi jerked his head in a short nod. Easier to lie non-verbally. With multiple people chasing after them, it was very unlikely that he would get away. . . but maybe he'd think of something on the fly.
Not for the first time, Nagi wished his telekinesis extended to lifting *himself*. The ability to fly would come in really handy right about now...but then, if wishes were fishes, beggars would eat--and these fuckers would be DEAD.
Make it to the treeline, Prodigy. He had to carry Tsukiyono, which meant he couldn't shield. So they had to find as much cover as possible getting there.
"I'm going to lift you," he muttered at Tsukiyono, and slid an arm around his waist. The position made him twitchy, being that close to another agent--but it was easier to lift and move Tsukiyono that way, while still maintaining his own wobbly sense of balance. Throwing his telekinesis under the other boy, he lifted Tsukiyono far enough off the ground that his feet barely touched the grass. Then he ran, stumbling for the nearest hedgerow.
"How...many are there?" he asked Tsukiyono, panting. He didn't dare stop to see who was chasing them.
Automatically, Omi reached out and grabbed Nagi's other shoulder, feeling severely off balance. Fingers clenched on bare skin, the boy stared down at his feet, poking out from the hems of over-long pajama-style bottoms, and watched the ground go by with fascination.
The telekinetic's question snapped him out of it, and he twisted to look back over his shoulder. "Shit. Three already. Gaining, by the way."
"Dammit." Nagi's voice was calm, but he was panting heavily. Trying to concentrate on both making his body work and his telekinesis was...difficult at best. He redoubled his efforts, stumbling faster. They ducked behind a hedgerow--still no shots were fired, though. They must not want to risk hurting the lab rats... Deciding to take a risk, he made a beeline straight for the nearest trees. Getting caught out in the open would be lethal. In the forest was a plethora of weapons for a telekinetic--he just had to get *to* them.
As soon as they reached the first tree, Omi tried to pull away. "You can't keep this up," he pointed out, voice flat, eyes already scanning the ground for a replacement crutch.
His mind was nearly knotting, trying to make a last minute determination. If he was to get out of this, he'd need backup. . . but he couldn't reveal Kritiker! Was there anyone he could ask Nagi to contact? Would he even bother? If so, why? Did he want the other boy to know anything about his escape plans?
"...yeah..." Nagi said between gasps, letting Tsukiyono go. He doubled over, gulping in air. Then he glanced behind them. The three guards--black-suited, with obvious guns that they weren't using--were barely a hundred feet away. Gotta do something about that. Resurrecting the pool of his power, he lashed out at the guards. Tendrils of telekinetic force whipped out, and two of the guards fell, necks broken with horrible crunching sounds. The third, caught in the backlash, stumbled and started to fall--then lunged forwards.
He'd been leaning down, reaching for a stout branch that might work as a crutch, if the wood wasn't too dead and brittle. Omi was still watching the nearby action out of the corner of his eye; while quietly impressed with Nagi's efficiency, his hand moved without conscious direction. Fingers closed around a stone; leaning heavily on his supporting tree, Omi flung it as hard as he could. The crunch of splintering bone marked the missile's impact with the bridge of the guard's nose.
Watching the man fall, the young assassin worked hard to keep his face impassive, acting like that had been entirely deliberate. Frankly, with such a hastily improvised weapon, the bone shards into the brain had been sheer luck. . . but it wasn't like he was going to admit it!
Nagi grunted, satisfied. That was a good shot, he admitted to himself, reluctantly impressed. He turned to Tsukiyono.
"We'd better separate. Less chance of--" he stopped short, neck hairs prickling as he felt a...'presence' behind him. He whirled, ready to attack--and came face-to-snout with one of the odd not-quite-robotic creatures from the lab.
Given that the other boy had helped him get this far, Omi would have been more than happy to lend Nagi a hand. Unfortunately, right at that moment he was too busy struggling for air, fingers clawing at an oversized hand wrapped around his throat and the lower half of his face.
That's what I was smelling, the assassin realized, far too late, as he was lifted into the air. Swinging, he tried to kick out, yelp muffled as his ankle started to throb. Dammit! These have some sort of exoskeleton! That HURT.
Nagi stumbled backwards, fear welling upwards. No! He lashed out, trying to crush the thing and get away--the monster rocked backwards, but otherwise didn't flinch. Instead, it lashed out with lightning speed. A clawed fist hit him backhanded, driving the breath from his lungs. Nagi felt himself flying, branches hitting his face. Then he slammed against something hard...
...and blackness swallowed him whole.
Dimly, Omi realized that something was wrong just before Nagi was flattened, but by now the edges of his vision were graying out. The thing holding him didn't have nerves anywhere that he could find. . nothing he tried made it let go. Still struggling feebly, there was nothing he could do but watch as the unconscious telekinetic was slung over the other creature's shoulder. Both of the things begin moving silently back towards the house, Omi still dangling from a one-handed grip.
Before they reached it, lack of oxygen had sent him into unconsciousness as well.