Doctor Rozdac tightly gripped the railing, knuckles turning white. Tucker was in obvious distress, making desperate grabs at the empty air around him, punctuated by the occasional spasm of pain. One of the robed figures present took a couple steps back from the glass chamber, eyeing it nervously as a tiny crack split down a wall.
“Hey, something happened to the inmate’s cuffs. Doctor, shut this down, there’s no telling what might-”
“I can’t,” Rozdac said, frowning. “You impatient dullards rejected my numerous requests for extra time in order to construct an emergency shutoff. Until the machine runs its course, the situation is out of my contro-” he was interrupted as both coils collapsed with a hollow clunk, a web of cracks splintering across each glass wall.
“Drat, everyone back!” He yelled, brow furrowed. “It doesn’t seem like we have much time. Ferox, be ready with a new set of dampeners. I’ll see what I can-” A shower of sparks erupted from the devices around Rozdac as Tucker began to scream in anguish, two – no, four, at least seven different forms of magic flaring around him.
“Damn it, I’m going in,” Ferox growled, leaping towards the shattering chamber just as the room was engulfed in a roaring explosion of fire and smoke.
~
Tucker groaned, massaging his eyes. He was in a bed, though not his own; this one had cleaner sheets, a fluffier pillow. He yawned, stretching out his arms before dropping them to his lap, unable to support the weight of his shackles. He felt a little weaker than normal, but his restraints also felt…heavier than he was used to. What had happened to his old ones? Tucker tried recalling the last time he was awake, only to be met with a fuzzy, disjointed jumble of emotions and memories. He had felt scared and angry, and…something to do with his magic? He looked around, noting that the strings around him were almost immobile, stagnant and dull. A headache slowly thumped through Tucker’s skull, and he couldn’t quite focus his eyes for more than a few seconds. Sitting up in his bed, he noted that the room was painfully dull; bleak stone walls supported a single torch overlooking the bed he was in and a thick door, from which he could barely make out a muffled argument.
“You ungrateful buffoons, what do you mean it’s getting docked from my pay?! If it weren’t for me-”…“An overreaction? I assure you, the increased dampener size was very much necessary. Do you simpletons know what his outburst could mean for-”…“Yes, the main device is almost ready, but is Tucker really the best candidate for-”…“Yes, sir. I understand.” The door smoothly swung open on well-oiled hinges, Doctor Rozdac stepping through with an irritated expression.
“Docked from my pay…these fools didn’t even compensate for the damages he- Ah, Tucker, you’re finally awake. Tell me, how are you feeling?”
“I don’t-”
“Yes, I’m aware,” Rozdac said, adjusting his spectacles. “I hope the increased size of your restraints isn’t too much of a bother?”
“My head doesn’t-”
“An unfortunate situation for sure, but a necessary precaution, I’m afraid. Well then, Tucker, up you get. We’ll have to go through a few tests and such, and you can join your other…friends.” Gathering the chain binding together the cuffs on his wrists, Tucker followed Rozdac into a spacious lab, complex tools and machines littering dozens of various workstations around the room. Rummaging through a large cabinet, the doctor pulled out a random variety of tools and instruments before directing Tucker to a metal chair, round clamps lining its arms and legs.
“Oh, don’t worry, Tucker, we won’t need those,” he said, chuckling as he slipped on a ring of elegantly twisted metal, streaked with veins of glowing purple. With the twirl of a finger, Rozdac reached for a long needle as Tucker’s shackles snapped open around his wrists. In a whirlwind of frenzied strings weaving together in all manner of shapes, his magic awakened, glowing fiercely. His head hadn’t felt this clear in as long as he could remember, and as Rozdac swiftly drew a vial’s worth of blood from his arm, one thought rang through Tucker’s mind, persisting even as his shackles clicked shut and his magic grew dull and slow once more; he, along with all the other prisoners here had to escape this vile place, no matter the cost.
~
A hooded figure shoved Tucker into the all-too-familiar living quarters, slamming the heavy door shut behind him. He stumbled forwards, carried by the weight of his shackles, before being caught by Skye as Morden rushed over.
“Tucker! Thank the gods, we thought you…it’s been at least a week, what happened?” Tucker looked around the room, struggling to focus on any face for more than a few seconds. Bernard wasn’t there. Neither was…Bryn, Diane, or Thorina. He blinked, and found three skeletal husks laying on the floor next to him, jaws open as if in mid scream, the last of their life pooling out of their mouths to join, to become part of him. No. No, n-not again, he didn’t mean to, he was sorry, he- Tucker heaved, curling into a fetal position as Morden thrust a bucket into his hands. With a sickly splatter, he held the bucket in front of his face, tears welling in his eyes as stomach acid burned down his throat. Waving away his friends’ attempts at guiding him to his bed, Tucker staggered towards the center of the room as a hush fell over his fellow inmates. He was always a source of some interest, and wasn’t usually so serious, or…well, anything. Breathing erratically, he took in the faces around him, headache still raging through his skull. The people here were wary, scared. They were all suffering, how had he not seen that before? Taking a deep breath, Tucker straightened, barely able to manage the weight of his shackles.
“I have a plan.”
~
He estimated it had been around a week, not that it mattered. Everyone seemed ready, and with some luck they had a good chance of no one being left behind. Of course, there had been a few complications – Morden had been called once more to have his regular ‘spar’ with Catus, returning sullen and covered with cuts, and half of the inmates were bed-ridden for a couple days, recovering from some sort of illness, most likely a result of the particularly putrid food they’d been served recently. Finally, though, everything was falling into place. He’d overheard two guards organizing the next round of test subjects while being transported to another check-up with Rozdac. The doctor had seemed excited somehow, and Tucker couldn’t shake the feeling that something big was coming. It’s a good thing we’re doing this now, then, thought Tucker as he crouched beside the door. Skye gave him a reassuring nod from the other side, face streaked with worry; he knew what would happen if they failed. A rough scraping sounded from the door as it flew open, Morden tensing with a stolen bootlace in hand. As a hooded figure stepped through the door, Skye dove at their legs, holding tightly as the figure crumpled to the floor with a shout. Morden dove behind them as a group of inmates swarmed the guard, only to be launched back with the flick of a finger, hitting the opposite wall with a dull thump. Lacing the string around their neck from behind, Morden yanked the figure to the ground as they gasped for breath, clawing at their neck as Tucker grabbed the figure’s hand, pulling the ring off of their finger and putting it on his own. Tucker grabbed his shackles as they swung open, snapping them to the robed figure’s wrists as Morden relented, jumping back. The ring had a strange sort of weight to it, Tucker noticed, experimentally waving his hand around. The figure leapt upwards, carried by the shackles, and crashed into the ceiling as Tucker raised his hand. Well, that was…interesting. He moved his hand to the left, and the figure followed, flying towards the wall as his fellow inmates gathered behind him. Right, down, up, left, up, down, right, left, all Tucker could see was a mass of dark purple robes and red, all he could hear were crunches and thuds as the screams died out, and what scared him most was that he enjoyed it.
“Tucker,” Skye said loudly, breaking him out of his stupor. “Are you ok?” Tucker breathed deeply, looking around him as he lowered his hand. Skye was next to him with a look of concern tinged with the slightest trace of fear, Morden’s eyes were wide, glued to the figure, almost hungry, his face twisted with a greedy half-grin, and the guard…he didn’t want to look at the guard. Tucker tried talking, but no sound came out. He swallowed, going over to each inmate and taking off their cuffs, before standing at the entrance to the room.
“Let’s go.”
~
The next hour was a blur of fear and stress. It had seemed easy, they had been able to overpower three guards on their way through the facility without many issues, until the inmates reached the cafeteria, where they were waiting. By some stroke of luck none of the stronger agents were there, but the only way they had escaped the onslaught of guards had been by surprise; the figures hadn’t been expecting the inmates to be free of their shackles. Tucker and Skye hurdled past a corner, narrowly avoiding a barrage of sharp crystals shooting towards them. This wasn’t good, some of their captors had magic. They were lost in the polished stone halls, having volunteered to scout ahead of the main group – just one of their many mistakes, Tucker reflected. There was power in numbers, after all, and despite feeling infinitely more agile and focused than when he had his shackles, the two were far from able of taking down a guard by themselves. Hearing a surprised yelp, Tucker threw a look over his shoulder to see Skye trip, toppling to the ground. That wasn’t good, was it? The guards must be right behin- A large arrow, easily as thick as his arm, shot through Tucker’s stomach, embedding itself in the wall behind him, splattering the stone with his own blood. No, not like this, he couldn’t die now, couldn’t give in like this. Roaring in pain and anger, he grabbed a handful of strings, snapping them forwards as they weaved together as a tendril of searing fire, writhing down the corridor in front of him.
“Tucker!” Morden cried out, barreling down the opposite hallway. Tucker coughed, blood dripping out of his mouth, feeling like he was drifting closer to death with each passing moment; the pain was unimaginable, but he couldn’t worry about that now.
“Gods, this isn’t…you’ll be okay. I swear it, we’ll find a way to patch you up as soon as we get out of here,” Morden reassured, squinting up at where the arrow was poking out of the wall, a faint light shining from a crack in the stone where it had been lodged.
“There’s no time, we have to go through the wall," he said, standing back as Tucker placed both hands on the polished stone. One last push. That’s all he needed, and they could escape. He felt his magic surge around him in all directions, taking the rest of whatever energy he had left to direct it towards the wall as it corporealized as a forceful blast outwards. With an explosion of smoke and dust, the stone gave out, crumbling outwards as a cloud of debris bellowed through the hall. Morden grabbed his arm as they scrambled through the newly-created hole, scraping their hands and knees on the wreckage.
“Wait, Skye,” Tucker shouted weakly. “We have to go back for him!” Morden looked back, eyes searching furiously through the wreckage. He could hear a group of guards making their way down the hall, coming closer by the second.
“There’s no time, we have to go,” Morden said heavily, pulling Tucker down a dark, rocky slope. “I’m not losing you as well. I’m sorry, Skye…” The sky was a deep black, and the only light they had were from the moon and stars themselves, their gentle twinkling one of the few comforts they had left.
~
Tucker groaned quietly, pain shooting through his stomach as he slightly raised his head – he must have blacked out. Morden was facing away from him, paddling furiously with an oar in each hand. They were in an old rowboat, slightly damp with mildew…where had they gotten this?
“You still with me, Tucker?” Morden asked, breathing haggardly. “You’ll be okay, I’ll fix this, I…I have to fix this, you can’t die now.” Tucker tried to comfort him, to tell his friend he’d be fine, but he knew that would be a lie. He couldn’t move or speak, and wisps of ever-growing darkness were eating away at the edges of his vision. His magic was…panicked, somehow. Suddenly, the boat rocked violently as Agent Ferox herself swung up over the edge in one smooth motion, eyes and bioluminescent light glowing a faint yellow in the darkness. She and Morden glared at each other, saying nothing for what felt like an eternity before he dropped the ores, breaking the silence with a crazed, resigned chuckle.
“Wishful thinking to hope we could ever escape, huh?” She snorted, spraying the two with a small shower of seawater.
“I’m surprised you got as far as you did.” Ferox nodded to Tucker, expression unchanging. “Doesn’t have much time left, if he ain’t dead already. I doubt we could save ‘em if we tried, and while I’m sure the ol’ doctor would love to keep his body, the little freak deserves to rest at his friend’s side.” Morden warily squinted up at her, throwing a brief glance at the man behind him, blood trickling out of the hole in his torso below a small identification patch on his shirt: ‘Subject 001’.
“What’s the catch?” With a grin, she pulled out a small blinking device, tossing it to him.
“A backup plan, of sorts. Here’s all you gotta do…” Tucker was not able to hear the rest, as his vision turned to black, and his senses dulled. He was dying. Without seeing it, he knew his magic was flooding into his body, filling him head to toe, becoming one with him; one last solace? That was nice…A soothing voice reverberated throughout his mind, bringing a calm smile to his lips. Worry not, it whispered. This is not our end.