Experiment VII

Chapter Forty-Seven: Quiet before the Storm

     I keep my jaw wired shut as the armoured truck juts up and down the bumpy roads. No doubt to Chester's utmost distaste, he sits sandwiched up on a small part of the bench next to me, leaving us less than an inch apart. He shifts around uncomfortably in his overly-bulky new body armour. Strapping his wings down to actually fit into the Umbra agent's gear was no easy task, not that I lent any help. There are at least twenty of Umbra's soldiers in this truck alone, and breathing room was definitely not a concern when we were all packed in here. Chester and I must be thinking the same thing: How the hell did this work? That and, Move over.

Guilt gnaws at me at the ever-prevalent thought of leaving Rychner behind. Was I void of any other option? Was there even the slightest possibility he was still alive? Perhaps not...but what if he was? Maybe this was a bad idea. No, forget that. It was absolutely a bad idea. But it's far too late to turn back now.

My mind continues to race as I softly tap my foot against the metal floor, the minutes dragging on. My knee slams into Chester's leg with a thunk as the truck goes over a ding in the road. The fleeting consideration of apologizing crosses springs to mind before an elbow crashes into my ribs.

Grunting slightly, I shoot him an accusing glare mirroring his own. Before I get a chance to speak, the man opposite me clears his throat in an overly-loud manner.

"Problem?" he asks, arching an eyebrow at the two of us.

I shake my head more vigorously than necessary, but Chester is the first to respond.

"No. There's no problem," Chester hastens to reply in a voice at least three decibels deeper than its default. My lip twitches, my throat producing a just-about-audible noise as I strain to suppress a snigger. It transforms into a muted wince as his bony elbow slowly digs into my side further.

"No problem," I strain to confirm through gritted teeth. Whether my 'reassurance' proves to reassure the man or make him more suspicious remains a mystery.

I breathe a quiet sigh of relief as the Umbra agent nods, and the pressure on my side gradually eases. The truck swerves violently to the side, sending almost everyone slamming into each other's sides. I wince again as Chester's arm moves to my shoulder, holding it firm with an iron grip. I grit my teeth together as the bullet wound in my arm flares up again with the sudden pressure clenching around it.

My posture stiffens, but I refuse to display any other signs of physical distress, ignoring the look Chester shoots me when his hand comes away red. He does not hesitate to smear it against his leg, not wanting to draw further attention with a bloody hand.

One of the agents shouts some harsh complaint and something about 'getting off here' as the driver slams down on the brakes, pulling the truck to a halt. I gulp as the doors swing open, letting the others offload first.

I take a deep breath before slowly stepping out, a humid, damp breeze lightly brushing over me. My legs stumble a little as a wave of nausea washes over me. Despite soon catching my balance, Chester seizes my upper arm.

"You're unbelievable," he hisses under his breath as soon as our boots hit the dirt.

"Get- off," I grunt, shoving him to the side. My gaze flickers across the rest of the Umbra soldiers, but thankfully they pay no mind. We lag a few paces behind the others as they make their way toward...well, I don't know where. A thick fog lingers in the air obscuring any visual beyond a 10-foot radius. With no other sense of direction, I follow after the men in front of us.

"When were you planning on mentioning you got sho-" Chester begins to ask, catching back up to me.

"I wasn't."

He snorts. "Yeah, that about tracks."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're an impaulsive moron and you're going to get us both killed," he says curtly, not so much as sparing a glance over as he does.

Not dignifying him with a response, a mere eye roll suffices as I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

Nothing but light footsteps fill the brief stretch of silence that follows, making my increasing heart rate all the more noticeable as questions flood my mind. I can't help but wonder what might await us upon our arrival. Is there even the slightest chance we might pull this off? I find my eyes wandering over to Chester as another question enters my mind.

"If you're so scared of dying then why did you come?" I ask, keeping my eyes trained on the back of the man up ahead.

"I'm not the one whose heart is racing," he counters. I pause, taken aback that Chester can hear that well. Before I have the chance to voice a response, he continues. "I'm not scared of dying. I just don't want to do it prematurely."

"Chester, this is not a fight we walk away from. You know that, right?"

"I'm aware," he sighs.

I squint at him, my curiosity piqued. "Then why?"

"Revenge. Why else? Get a bit of payback for what they did to us. Isn't that why you're here too?" he asks, his icy-blue stare scanning my face.

I hesitate before giving a stiff nod.

"Well, I don't want to die before I get it."

Thinking about his words, I almost collide with the person in front of me as the group comes to a sudden halt. With the mist lingering in the air having partially lifted, the gated security checkpoint up ahead is all too visible.

Even though I'm wearing a helmet, it doesn't stop me from trying to keep the surprise off my face as a winged figure almost fully kitted out in Umbra gear steps out from the sentry box. No one bats an eye as the mutant approaches the first in line with a scanner in hand.

"Identification," the dark-haired mutant grumbles boredly, extending his spare hand. As the first agent in line hands him something, he holds the scanner over it, turning his head to the side as he waits. Whether or not he's looking directly at us or simply at the end of the line remains unclear. I let out a slow breath as he eventually speaks up. "Where's your vehicle?"

"Jerry was driving," the agent responded with little enthusiasm. "Had another job to run anyway."

"Heh," the winged mutant scoffed, mildly amused as he handed the I.D. back. "Say no more."

It isn't long before the mutant stands before me, resuming the same bored expression on his face. "Identification," he says, putting out his hand expectantly. My eyes widen as they catch his steely-blue ones.

"Dan?" I ask, not quite believing the sight in front of me.

My former cellmate, whom I'd assumed to have died in the explosion that had us scrambling for the safehouse, stares blankly at me. His eyebrows furrow, no sign of recognition dawning over his features. "Who the hell is Dan?"