The Neo-Metropol Heist

44: Edward

Edward pulled the heavy concrete door shut behind him and stepped into the dim basement entryway.
There were no visible rooflights, the long corridor ahead illuminated only by muted green striplighting in the floor, showing him the way.
Harry had touched the ship down on one of the lower surrounding buildings around the Neo-Metropol and Aphelion had directed him down a fire escape into the rear entrance to the secure basement levels.
'Secure' wasn't a particularly accurate description, however, as Aphelion had hacked her way though in seconds and the door had simply creaked open.
"Down the next hallway, I'm disabling the cameras as you go," she said, her voice tinny in his ear, "move slow. I'll keep you away from populated areas but if you hear anything..."
"Hide?" Edward whispered.
Aphelion didn't reply, but he could imagine what she was thinking. He's not making it out of this alive.
The stress was affecting Edward in a strange way, whereas a few years ago his mind would have processed it and compensated for it, his senses felt dull and all he could think about was the way his heart pounded in his chest.
"They have Zakarias in a holding cell fifty metres to your east," Aphelion said, her voice quiet as though her voice could be heard by anybody but him, "next right."
Edward took the next right and found himself in another darkened corridor. He felt a trickle of sweat on his brow - the basements were ridiculously hot for some reason.
They were quiet, a maze of empty darkness with nobody to be seen. Until Aphelion hissed "hide," at him, and he immediately crammed himself into the space between the wall and a steel cabinet.
A few moments later, one of the strange, pale creatures that Castells used to man his building, and two heavily armed faceless mercenaries, strode past, looking ahead and barely noticing him cowering in the darkness.
Once they had gone, Edward stepped away from the wall, exhaling quietly. He felt around in his jacket pocket and his hand fell upon the gun that he had been given before stepping out of the jumpship.
It was a heavy thing, made of solid metal and plastic that felt foreign and strange in his hands. He'd fired a gun before, but never at somebody, and he'd never carried one on a job.
Jobs could get tense, and even the coolest thief could get jumpy, and if they had a sidearm to reach for there was always a chance it could go off, and that could lead to problems. It was better not to carry and have your escape plans ready to go.
This gun, however, was pre-emptively set to stun. Aphelion had showed him the lethality trigger, but he told her he wouldn't need it. He was just there to get Zakarias and get out.
"Go left at the next corner and find somewhere to hide," Aphelion said, "they have Zakarias in a holding cell, one interrogator in the room with him and one waiting in the external observation area. I can lure one out but then the other one is up to you."
Edward turned the corner and stayed low behind another cabinet which jutted out from the wall, keeping his breaths as quiet as possible. He shouldn't be here, this wasn't something he was made to do.
His hands shook and sweat gathered on his forehead. Why was it so damn hot?
"Keep down," Aphelion said.
A few moments later, a heavy metal door nearby swung open and a suit of armour came trampling out. It could have been male or female, but Edward couldn't tell under the plating. A mean assault rifle was swung around their shoulder.
"Why are we changing the protocol now?" The guard growled in a deep but definitely female voice, "we had our orders, I don't see why they're being changed now. Who are you, anyway? I report to Mirchoff..."
The voice trailed off as the mercenary disappeared around the next corner, not even noticing Edward huddled up against the cabinet.
"You've got about four minutes before she figures out that Mirchoff doesn't have the flu," Aphelion said, "go, now."
Edward put his cane on the floor and pulled himself to his feet, his bones ached and he wanted to be anywhere else but here.
In his younger days, the challenge and the adrenaline would have kept him going for hours more, but now he just wanted to lay down and rest. He thought of Dante, sat in his quiet, peaceful room at Granville. Sure, it smelled like antiseptic, but there were no mercenaries there, and the risk to life was significantly lower.
Edward caught the metal door before it closed shut and slipped inside to the darkened security room.
A series of monitor consoles lined the desks along the nearest wall, filling the room with a sickly green light. Two swivel chairs were cast across the room and there was a half-eaten take-out burrito on one of the desks.
The nearest wall wasn't a wall at all, though, it was the translucent side of a two-way mirror, and on the other side of it Edward could see two men in a room lit with harsh light.
One of them was Zakarias - tied to a metal chair with his hands behind his back, his lip split and skin marked with red welts, blood trickling from his nose.
The other man was huge, almost as big as Harry Cain, wearing the combat armour of his fellows but without the sinister mask. He wore a severe buzzcut and his face was speckled with scars from a hundred fights.
"Who are you?" The man asked, throwing a punch into Zakarias' abdomen. The kid coughed and sprayed a thin cloud of blood from his mouth as he tried to catch his breath, he didn't look pretty now.
If they were still asking the same question that they had been ten minutes earlier, then Zakarias hadn't buckled. He was tough, Edward had to give him that.
"Who did you come here with?" The man asked, his voice short and angry.
Zakarias simply lifted his head limply and said, "you have pretty eyes."
The mercenary growled and hit him in the face with a gloved hand, opening an angry looking cut on Zakarias' cheek. Zakarias smiled and shook off the attack.
"What are they, like, ocean blue?" He said, only to receive another punch, "I guess they could be like, aqua. I'm not sure of the difference."
Another punch and this time Edward saw teeth come loose and scatter across the room from the impact.
Edward clutched the gun close and headed towards the door to the cell, keeping his steps as quiet as he could. He pushed the door open with his hand, then grasped the gun tightly, nudging the door open with his shoulder.
The mercenary didn't hear him, and if Zakarias saw him through the possible concussion, he didn't give him away.
His heart throbbing in his chest, Edward inched closer, raising the gun and resting his finger on the trigger. The man went to throw another punch and Edward steeled his arms and pulled the trigger.
After that, Edward couldn't really comprehend what was happening, the one thing he knew for sure was that the mercenary had dodged the bolt.
Moving quicker than any man had any right to move, he moved to the side, leaving the bolt to trail off into the tiled wall to his left, fizzling out in a flash like a firework.
Then he turned on his heels, a blur, and swung a meaty fist into Edward's chest. Edward recoiled from the blow like a leaf, folding backwards with a gasp, releasing the gun and sending it flying across the room.
He fell onto his back and knew then that his frail old ribs were shattered, but he didn't know how many, and possibly even his collarbone. His entire body was racked with pain and he couldn't catch his breath.
Then, the man was on him, grabbing him by his coat and throat, lifting him into the air.
There was something wrong with his eyes - they were blue, but not a normal kind of blue. A too-bright, inhuman, electric blue.
The man's lips curled into a snarl as he slammed Edward against the tiled wall. Edward could do nothing but hand limply, choking under the weight of his grip, glancing between Zakarias' horrified face, like a rabbit in a trap, and the glare of his assailant.
And then he couldn't see anything, the whole world reduced to a narrow tunnel, like looking through a fisheye lense. All sound was muffled and even though his heart was threatening to burst from his chest, his mind went strangely calm.
Was this it?
But it wasn't, he was dragged back to life before he could accept it by a single voice out in the darkness that he would recognise anywhere, even though it had been thirty-six years since he'd last heard it in person.
"Garistag," Sergei Castells said, "let him go."
The man, Garistag, loosed him and he dropped to the floor like a sack of meat. Edward gasped for air like a beached fish as the room came back to him through the swirling stars that stained his vision.
The faces in the room came back to him, and he saw Castells, a towering obelisk of a man from his vantage point on the floor. He looked older than his PR pictures, but he still looked better, and even then such a fickle thing seemed important to him.
Castells kneeled to his level and leaned into his face. His teeth glowed with a white sheen and he even smiled.
"Hello, Edward," he said.