Fandom: X-Files
Pairing: Sk/K
Many thanks to Rudyard Kipling for his wonderful verse
<Shit, shit, shit, shit...>, the mantra tumbled, curse over silent curse,
running through his mind, as he hurled himself down echoing corridors. Too quickly
discovered, too swiftly noticed, it was not a good day to be one of those who
had less than legal reasons for being in the base. There were too many of them
scattered around to make an easy escape, let alone complete the mission, too
many eyes that had already spotted the anomaly of the black clad man running
for his life. He ducked into a side corridor that seemed clear and tried to
quiet his breathing, his black clothes sticking to his body with nervous sweat.
He crouched into a shadowed corner and rubbed his bare head through the wool
balaclava, trying to pinpoint the locations of the searchers.
He hadn't done enough research, simply enough. The guard shift had taken him
unawares, he'd been overconfident. If he kept this up, he wouldn't have much
of a life to regret his mistakes, nor would the ones who depended on him. He
had to keep moving. Cocking his head to one side, he opened his mouth slightly
to assist his hearing. Rapid footsteps to the left, but leading away, silence
to the right. He narrowed his eyes so that the brown pupils would not stand
out against the surrounding white and concentrated, tried to force his hearing
to go further out. Still silent. It was away from the objective, but it was
the only choice he really had...
The milling crowd of searchers parted like a sea as a dark figure strode across
the room. Nobody wished to meet the crystal sharp green gaze as it swept across
them all, condemning their lack of ability to keep intruders out of the compound
with a sardonic flick of an eyebrow.
<Right on time.> He mused. <Although the execution could have used
some work...> The thought was laconic as he slipped from the barracks towards
the mess hall. He stopped at an intersection near the armoury and pursed his
lips thoughtfully. <Perhaps it's time to stock up on some "necessary
goods" while they're distracted...>
"You! Boy!" the voice echoed through the open doorway, a vocal whiplash
interrupting his mental inventory of the armoury. Eyes narrowing in annoyance,
he stopped and turned, carefully schooling his expression to a blank façade
before facing the intrusion directly. The head researcher strode out of the
room and glared at him before barking "Find the intruder and deal with
it!" The two parted ways at the corridor, going in separate directions.
Green eyes flicker across and seem to pass the brown, shrouded by shadow. He stands to intercept the incoming searchers, leaving a path to freedom, shielded by his body, one that the other swiftly takes, not questioning his luck. Taking over the search in this quadrant, the other splits them off into splinters and leads one along with him down the path laid free, only moments ago.
Ducking and melding into the shadows as far as possible, he slipped out of direct sight just as the first blow fell. Surprise is a wonderful weapon. A flurry of swift movements, a dance, graceful and deadly, shifting, avoiding, striking. The muffled thud of the unconscious body does not travel far. Green and brown trade glances before moving swiftly onwards.
An out of the way storeroom is the holding place for a cache of weapons and
body armour. Eyes swiftly shifting from wall to wall, hands moving quickly,
items are flicked out of containers and distributed between the two. Black Kevlar,
thin enough for ease of movement is donned, knives secreted on various limbs,
ammo checked and refilled. The emerald gaze is directed back towards the centre
of the compound and a raised eyebrow demands compliance. Conceding to the one
with the greater knowledge, the other follows the lead.
The barracks are empty of personnel, all on alert for the intruder, and all
elsewhere in the compound. Hidden in plain sight above one of the bunks is a
religious symbol, placed there months ago, when he first came into the compound
as a 'contractor'. It is quickly dismantled for the electrical parts within.
Nimble hands reassemble the item, and set it back into its hiding place, its
constantly broadcasting signal disabling the communications system for as long
as it remained undiscovered.
The guard for the research quadrant is dispatched silently, the arm reaching
out from behind, and jerking the chin to the side, violently. The crack of vertebrae
seems unnaturally loud as the body is dragged into a nearby room and shut away.
Moving quickly, they enter the laboratories near the back of the compound. Pristine
and white surfaces reflect off mirror bright steel capsules concealing ongoing
experiments. Lagging behind, hand reaching futilely towards the bodies contained
within, he is pulled back to reality by the other, sadly understanding the sorrowful
headshake at the uselessness of attempting to save those already too far gone.
Slipping toward the area scouted out carefully by months of undercover work,
the codes to seal the laboratory from the rest of the compound are entered,
steel reinforced doors slamming shut with a hiss. Another series of commands
for the cells are typed in with a minimum of fuss and the cage doors released.
Herding the children in silence, they work down the bank of cages, pairing up
survivors, helping them assist one another. Older 'stock' are directed to points
on the perimeter of the group, to provide protection and guidance to the younger.
An unsuspecting doctor turns the corner only to be brought down by a snarling
almost insane pack of her former 'patients'. He moves quickly to dispatch her
silently, but is held back by a strong hand on his arm. Brown eyes narrowed
with a barely suppressed anger, he allows himself to be restrained, letting
the victims take their turn at 'bettering the gene pool'.
The body is torn limb from limb and left in a pile in one of the smaller cages,
the fury still evident in the group's pack movements. Still eerily silent, they
move as one further down through the scientist's quarters towards the exit.
The maimed assist one another, the beaten and tortured stare with burning eyes
away from their chambers of horror. Small weapons are passed quickly between
those able to hold them. Knives, metal shards, anything that comes to hand are
eagerly obtained. Hypodermics are a popular choice, filled with an oily grey
matter.
Spreading into the living quarters like a silent mist, splitting down corridors
like blood down capillaries, they overwhelm the residents, slipping into rooms
and shutting the doors to suppress any alarm and maintain containment, meting
out their response, and then slipping back out into the main byways, a small
part of their souls replaced, yet utterly lost.
He buries his dark head into the others shoulder as they witness a small group
of children bring down one of the larger scientists, swarming over him, gouging,
clawing, cutting and stabbing. Arms wrap around him in mourning over their complete
loss of innocence and of a normal future. The dark blood washes across the floor
as the rattle of a final breath passes through a throat sliced open with almost
surgical precision.
A woman, heavy with a child that was not her own raises empty eyes at one of
the interns, pinioned by others and sobbing quietly. A flash of red-stained
metal and his eyes see no more. His screams absorbed by the walls, save him
not from the attention of his ex-patients, and as they leave, the stark white
lights shine upon his ruined eye sockets and the bloody mess of his mouth where
his tongue used to reside. ['save him not from the work he assisted in' doesn't
make the point I think you are going for maybe 'saved him not from those he
worked on' Also change it to 'light shines' or 'lights shine']
Eyes widening in sudden recognition, the lead scientist opens his mouth to accuse
the man striding towards him, spearheading the refugees. A gloved palm heel
to the jaw knocks him spinning and he slams into a wall, only to receive a swift
punch to the gut. The seemingly unbalanced fighting technique is all too efficient,
the leather clad man dealing more damage with one arm than the other could attempt
with two. Bruised and bloody he lays slumped on the floor, head hanging, awaiting
his fate. Green eyes, already clouded in pain from the violence already witnessed,
he drives a shiv into the back of his skull, ending it quickly and silently.
Finally a limit is reached. An explosive breath is released and he quickly gathers
up the group and directs them sternly towards the exit. The others, blood lust
somewhat dampened from the imposing figure, follow, working their way to freedom.
The final portal opens to a large sea cave, where black lined boats await the
release of the 'experimental subjects'. A glance, dark with remembered pain,
is exchanged, and the final two slip into the last boat waiting, casting off
and out to the open sea and the dark release of night.