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[mismanagement]

Hit me.

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[mismanagement]

"You blew me up!" Maketh spits. That part is understandable. Giving her over to these people is something else all together. "I'm going to hurt you."

Kallus ignores her, addressing Rita again. "No. But I'm giving you a chance. Take it or rot in here. Your choice."

[unheeled]

Ah. So this is car bomb guy. Makes sense why Maketh looks like she'd tear into him if she could.

Rita could break out of here easily given enough time left starving, but the slight chance that she could end up a shambling, angry monster for the rest of her life is wholly unappealing.

"Fine. Let's go, Tua."

[mismanagement]

There isn't much ceremony. Kallus just hauls her up and pushes her against the wall until he seems convinced she can hold her weight. Maketh snarls, batting his hands away. It hurts but she's upright, she can fucking move. And the door is open. She hadn't noticed that earlier.

This time he meets her eyes. Maketh doesn't know what she sees there. It's not regret. Not kindness, either. They mean nothing to each other, or at least they shouldn't. "Go. I won't help you again."

"Oh, I know."

And with that, Maketh headbutts him as hard as she can.

True to form, he goes down like a rock.

Maketh resists the urge to spit on him.

"Kick him a few times," she suggests, holding her bad arm to her chest. "To make it look real."

[unheeled]

"No." Rita glares at her. "You do it. You're the one he almost killed."

So Rita can say she did nothing, if this ends up failing.

"He said we can take his transportation. You'll know what it looks like, right? If this is a basement, it'll be easy to get to the first floor."

[mismanagement]

Maketh glares. "Must I do everything?"

Not that she really cares that heavily about who kicks Kallus in the face, so long as its down.

A pity there's not time for more. She'd shave his stupid head. Get rid of those horrid sideburns.

Maketh kicks Kallus just once. She feels something go crunch in his face.

Motherfucker. She hopes that hurts when he wakes up.

Maketh takes a slow breath. Focus, soldier. "All right. He has car. Tinted windows. Decals on the side. If we're quick, they won't realize it's not him."

It's not much of a chance. But they have to try.

Maketh nods just once. "Do what I say and we'll both survive this, all right?"

[unheeled]

What a messy revenge. Rita prefers more subtle methods that no one can throw in her face without implicating themselves too.

"They won't realize it isn't him?" She levels a flat stare at Maketh. "Really. They won't be able to tell two women aren't him. Two women, one of whom has white hair." Shaking her head, she sighs. "Sure we'll survive. If you're banking on me raging out to get us out of here, you're shit out of luck, because you'll probably end up dead too. I can't control it."

She could, with practice. She's seen it done. But this is all so new to her that she wouldn't bet on being able to do it at will.

[mismanagement]

Maketh closes her eyes and breathes through her nose. Focus, soldier. "It's standard procedure. No one can search Imperial vehicles or equipment without proper clearance. Which we don't grant."

If they can get into the truck, that's a start. It's armored and knowing Kallus, probably modified to survive anything short of an aerial bombardment.

She opens her eyes. All right. There's a plan. It's a weak plan, the sort she would have demoted any of her commanders for proposing, but she can't think of anything better. It has to be enough.

"Do you know how to fight?" Maketh ignores the comment about raging out. It's another problem she'll deal with when she needs to.

[unheeled]

"We have to get there first."

But whatever. This isn't Rita's area of expertise. If Tua wants to get them killed, she'll play along and met herself rage out and... survive, somehow. Her father will catch wind of this. Better to be his prisoner than Fillmore Graves's.

She starts to move towards the cell door. The power outtage should be happening soon.

At the question, Rita arches an eyebrow. "No." Why should she need to? At least, she didn't used to, when she was human.

[mismanagement]

Three things happen very quickly then. First, the room goes dark. It takes a second for the emergency lights to kick in, painting everything in a ghoulish red.

Second, the door clicks open.

And finally, the walls tremble. A few floors up, something has exploded. Maketh can hear the echo. A grenade? Perhaps a mechanical malfunction? Either way it's an opportunity. Kallus, damn him, is thorough.

Maketh takes a breath, then curls her fingers back on her good hand, so the hell of her palm is bared. "If someone tries to grab you, make your hand like this, not a fist, and strike up. Hit them in the nose. Do you understand?"

She doesn't mention this will kill whoever Rita strikes. There's no time for a proper lesson anyway.

"I'll do what I can, but I can't fight like this. If it comes to that, you'll have to. All right?"

[unheeled]

Rita steps outside the cell as Maketh speaks, looking up and down the red-lit hallway until she sees the door. Okay, she can do this. That method of striking enemies is easy enough. If anyone knows how to fight, it's a soldier. It doesn't matter if she ends up killing people. It'd be self-defense, not murder. She can live with that.

The rest?

"If it gets to that, I won't have a choice." The virus will takenover; she knows it in her slow-beating heart. "Come on. I'm not going to stay here and waste a perfectly good escape opportunity."

And she heads for the door with quick, light steps, grateful these fuckers gave her flats to weat while imprisoned.

[mismanagement]

Maketh finds herself thankfully, suddenly, that Rita isn't the type to linger over a decision. There's no time. This has to be done now.

So it is.

Maketh limps after her without a word, bad arm clutched to her chest. If she keeps moving, she can ignore the sharp flashes of hurt and the knowledge of what caused them.

Keep going, soldier. You can hurt when you're free.

She eyes the hallway suspiciously. There ought to be guards, but aren't. All the door are open.

[unheeled]

"Your friend wasn't messing around," Rita says over her shoulder as they reach the stairwell. "Are you sure he wasn't planning something bigger than a betrayal?"

[mismanagement]

"He's not my friend," Maketh snaps. Even in the days when she'd been on good terms with Kallus, she'd never called him that. He was a coworker and a man who looked out after his own skin. "I don't know. Possibly he's stealing information as well."

Why waste the opportunity?

[unheeled]

"You sure seemed touchy."

At this point, Rita kees going there because it's entertaining. She doesn't actually care what relationship Maketh and Kallus did or didn't have.

"I wouldn't be sad to see Fillmore Graves go, if he's trying to take them out." Their methods aren't to Rita's taste, even though there's good money in dealong with private military contractors. As long as her father is CEO of Max Rager, though, it's out of her hands.

"There it is." She motions to the door that will lead to Kallus's transport. "Bless their need to meticulously label every door."

[mismanagement]

"I," Maketh announces, with as much dignity as she can manage, "am having a bad day."

Whatever Kallus and the Empire are doing, it's left the halls strangely empty. She'll worry about that later, when she's not trapped.

Maketh limps to the door, checking the sight lines. "All right. I'll need you to drive. I can direct you."

They just need to get past the security checkpoint now. That's the only thing that's left. And once they're inside the truck it shouldn't matter.

God, they're close.

[unheeled]

See, it's funny, but given their proximity to the security checkpoint, Rita holds back the laugh.

"Would it be more or less obvious if I carried you past the guards?" Given, you know, the fact that Maketh is very injured.

[mismanagement]

That's a problem. Maketh grimaces. It's obvious both of them don't belong. And while the guards might not check the truck, that doesn't solve the problem of getting over there in the first place.

"I'll walk."

She pauses.

"You can survive getting shot, yes?"

[unheeled]

"Sure." It sounds sarcastic as all getout, but she's telling the truth. "You know, if you had told me we were going to end up being target practice, I would've taken my chances in prison."

False. But who would she be if she didn't make a woefully inappropriate joke.

"You lead us, I guess. If you lag behind, you'll end up dead."

Which isn't really a problem except in that Maketh is the one who knows where they're going. Last thing Rita needs is to end up getting caught and brought right back here.

[mismanagement]

"I need to know," Maketh informs her shortly. It's only the truth. "Stand up straight and don't look at them."

Pretend you belong. It's part of the game. It might just keep them alive.

She takes a deep breath.

All right. Get ready, soldier.

"Come on."

[unheeled]

"Easy." Rita always walks with purpose, like she owns wherever she is, or could with just a word.

So when Maketh gives the signal, Rita pretends she's walking into a board meeting and walks like her hair and pallor are normal, like there's nothing to see, nothing to question. She keeps her eyes on the vehicle, because getting there is their objective. The fact that it happens to be in opposition of all the staff here is irrelevant.

With luck, they'll make it. With luck, none of them will recognize her.

Maybe the one staring at her doesn't recognize her. No, maybe he thinks he's seeing a ghost. She'd look at him and say "boo" if not for the fact that they're almost there, and she doesn't want to ruin their escape.

[mismanagement]

Instinct says run. Run as hard and fast as you can and get out. Maketh takes a breath and walks as purposefully as she can. Don't run. Walk. Look straight ahead and move like you belong there.

Thus far, no alarms sound.

Maketh isn't the praying type. Never had a use for it.

She's starting to understand the impulse now. Everything is so tedious, it could go wrong so easily.

Fifteen feet away. Ten. Almost there.

[unheeled]

He's still staring. Rita watches him on the edge of her vision. This is bad, but they're almost there. Maybe it won't matter.

When they're at five feet away, the guy shoots at her feet, the laser-bullet hitting the floor just inches from the tip of her flats.

Shit.

She doesn't need to tell Maketh to run to know she'll follow. Rita wrenches the car door open and climbs inside, focusing on the task at hand rather than her breathing, because that hadn't worked last time to keep her zombie instincts from overcoming her.

"Get the hell in here!" she hisses, and if Maketh doesn't make a move to hurry, she'll reach out, grab her by her good arm, and yank her inside.

[mismanagement]

Adrenaline kicks in just in time. There's a good moment where Maketh doesn't feel any pain at all. She has to move, get away, and so she moves. The truck is armored, it'll be safe.

Move, soldier.

She ends up sprawled in the seat, howling when she jostles her arm against the seat. "Jesus fuck, go!"

Kallus, thoughtfully, left the keys in the ignition.

[unheeled]

As soon as Maketh is inside, Rita turns the key in the ignition; and when Maketh issues her order (or plea, it doesn't really matter), Rita slams her foot on the gas and heads straight for the exit.

She doesn't care about the people she hits on the way there, whether they're dead or just injured. It's time to go before things get so bad that the soldiers' survival won't even be a question.

"I fucking hate Fillmore Graves," Rita growls as bullets ping off the armored vehicle.

[mismanagement]

"Goddamn," Maketh breathes. She's hurting but she's still alive. She can work with that.

For a moment - just a moment - she closes her eyes and just breathes. In and out. Focus, soldier. Breathe. Count down from ten. Remember what you have to do.

Maketh opens her eyes.

"Get out in public. Witnesses. We need witnesses or they'll follow."