Mineira1986 wrote: ↑9 months ago
Ah yes, I expected Antoinette to make an appearance, but wasn't expecting to see her so soon. I wonder how that meeting will go. Will it be with both untied? Will Antoinette be tied up? Will Giselle? Maybe both?
I had not even considered tie-ups during that meeting. I am not sure whether it fits the tone of the story.
Yeah, the pacing of the story is not great, and I should have written more about Giselle in earlier chapters. Ah well, that happens when writing a chapter and then post it. Then you can't expect perfectly paced foreshadowing and a proper build up of the story and characters.
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“So, yeah, I am glad the others are doing publicity while I am here. Interviews and podcasts are always so draining,” Antoinette told the unnamed sniper. “But it’s great to be back in the States. I missed not being immediately recognized as a tourist. Next month, we go to Alaska. We were there a few years back, but some old mines and epic places remain to be explored.”
Hearing Antoinette for an hour straight had been painful. She had talked about the two-month work trip to Europe. They had toured the Baltics, Poland, Hungary, and Albania, all having so many cool things Giselle had dreamed of exploring one day. Giselle clicked the button of her radio thrice, an improvised signal to notify the command center she was still there.
“Still stuck?” Macaw asked. Nothing else was left to do, so she joined Bull Shark in overseeing Giselle. The few survivors had decided not to go in again.
Giselle responded with two clicks, affirming the suggestion.
“Remember, we stay here. If you need anything, ask. When you get the chance, leave with the bag.”
The order had been repeated a dozen times by now. Giselle responded with two more clicks and focused on the only noteworthy question in her life: “When did those idiots leave?” Her arms and legs ached from the monotonous position, and being three stories up, she wanted to get out within half an hour. She was still making up her mind about whether she should kill the babbling duo.
“Copy that,” Antoinette said on her radio minutes later. “We’ll be there in five minutes.”
Sadly, Giselle had overheard only fragments of the entire defensive plan, but as the door closed, she communicated the update. She crept towards the hallways, weapon aimed forward. Macaw had come up with the same hypothesis as her: They did not expect anyone still inside, and if anyone was there, their eventual move would betray them.
“I’m on the third floor, West Gallery.”
“Move down. The machine room has many ladders and is almost completely dark. Ocelot mentioned the South side had a doable fence.”
“Agreed,” Giselle copied. She had to find a way out and one-shot the attempt. The perimeter was the most heavily guarded. Any trespassers had to cross some open areas. She could almost freely move elsewhere but was far more cautious this time. The factory felt deserted once more, but knowing that there were laser traps and cameras near the targets and scattered elsewhere, she took no risks. The opponents also played the waiting game and would keep an eye out. In this game, sitting still meant you would see the other person first. Giselle avoided the main hallways, skirted the edges of the rooms, and used windows when available.
Luckily, that sequence of choices was short as Giselle soon reached the massive machine room, where steel beams, pipes, high walkways, and gigantic vats made an adult playground for those who were not stuck-up and dull. It looked even better in the dark, and the purple spotlights hanging from the ceiling provided an ominous glow. This was the good life.
From atop a giant tank, possibly for sulfuric acid or another nasty chemical, Giselle spotted an unexpected sight in the distance. 200 feet away and 30 below, she saw people. A nightmare, her way out was blocked. Two of those idiots were clad in camouflage and held big guns. Their heads and faces were covered, but Giselle still noted they looked in another direction. She lowered herself and whispered into the radio. When she refound her courage, she looked again, spotting the wooden chair between the men. A woman sat on it. No, she was
bound to it. Around her head, two strips of orange cloth were tied, a blindfold and a gag, holding whatever these bastards had propped into her mouth. Ropes fixed her arms to the armrests, and her ankles were bound together and pulled under the chair. A pink, heart-shaped travel pillow supported her neck. She wore black pants and a black laser-game vest. “Eight…” Giselle mumbled under her breath.
“Careful, Swift Fox,” Macaw stated over the radio before Giselle added the new information.
“I doubt that’s one of ours. That’s the hostage,” Macaw guessed, hearing the situation. “Captured campers are out of the game. There’s no reason to single out one, so I doubt it is Spider Octopus. How certain are you?”
“Not at all. It’s far.” This news disappointed Giselle. The girl was small and had brown hair, but she could not convince herself it was Eight. The light, distance, gag, and blindfold made this impossible. Then she realized the hostage made sense: No one would be held here for no good reason. The opposition wanted to give the failing campers one last chance to win, so they created this opportunity. How pathetic.
“Would you be able to observe the situation for a minute, Swift Fox?” Macaw asked. “Try to estimate the probability you will succeed in freeing her. It’s no more than fair you get the final call. Please, don’t hesitate to decline, but it would be tremendous if you could save us.”
Of course, she meant her own position as a commander. The complete failure of an operation would demote the commander trio. They deserved it, even though Macaw claimed that the ambush’s survivors were all friends of Tarantula and had not put in much effort. Giselle couldn’t care less. There was an appeal to show off and take the risk. Success would kill all doubts about her ability and make people respect her. Then they might keep her out of all the bullshit.
“I deem 80% to free her, a lot less to get out.”
Giselle climbed down and sneaked to another corner. There were only two opponents here. Actually, for them, it had to be quite pathetic to be standing there like an NPC waiting to be shot. She predicted a trap, but Antoinette had spoiled that they were not allowed to metagame. Hence, why would two people give up their real life? The protection consisted of only two men, expecting nobody would sneak through their entire line of defense before reaching them.
For fifteen minutes, Giselle observed, letting Bull Shark time the regular intervals between their radio communication and being very careful there were exactly four people in the room.
“So, what’s your choice?” Macaw asked, and she got two clicks in return. “Awesome. The best of luck, Swift Fox.”
Giselle crept forward behind the men, who appeared jolly and joking. Soon, they learned that Swift Fox had been 50 feet further, popping her gun around an old oil barrel.
“All good, nothing to report,” one opponent radioed, giving Giselle a 3-minute window before an unanswered radio message would signal their dreadful fates. Two shots on the first and two on the latter engulfed the bound hostage in red light and caused unholy words spoken by others than Giselle for once.
She rushed in and pulled on the ropes around her arms. They were actually tied. Fuck.
“Do you have a knife?” she asked the baffled man, and one nodded, telling her he preferred doing it himself and cutting through it like butter. The hostage took her blindfold off and stood up, shaking. Then she took some earplugs out. She had to be confused.
“Let’s go,” Giselle hissed, handing her a weapon belonging to one of the fallen. She spurted away before the girl could start her thankful monologue. No time for bullshit NPC talk. The hostage was likely a former camper herself, despite having to pass for the kidnapped child of whatever industrialist. Not wanting to poke her fingers in a stranger’s mouth, she let the hostage remove the gag as they jogged to an exit. A crazy amount of wet cloth fell onto the ground, and if the hostage had been detesting it, she would not have done this for a dumb summer camp. She was a weirdo.
“Three minutes are up,” Bull Shark told over the radio as they left the machine room and entered a hallway. A nearby open window would be their exit.
“Very well,” Giselle replied. “We’re exiting the building.” She hung from the window frame and dropped into grassy bushes. “Come on! Hurry!” she decried. The hostage, with her brown, wavy hair and weary eyes, looked down. She already wore a laser game vest, so they had anticipated such a scenario.
“How high is that drop?”
“Only 10 feet or so. It’s jump or die,” was needed to persuade the girl, and agitated, Giselle crossed the lit border into a forested area behind the factory. Only a fence was left.
Then an alarm sounded. It was not very loud but pushed a new wave of adrenaline through the teen’s veins. She turned around and cursed. She had to wait five seconds on her companion as they traversed a large sloped concrete slap. A sniper could strike at any moment. “Two more minutes before reaching the gap.”
Eight had been an annoyance, being slower, louder, and less aware, but this hostage was a headache. A voice in Giselle’s head told her to turn around, shoot her, and blame a sniper. An engine already sounded in the distance. Multiple.
A woman shouted in the distance as Giselle spotted the gravel road parallel to the fence. It took her a few seconds to orientate herself in the pitch-black. The hole she had found for Eight and her was close by. She darted further, surprised that the incapable hostage could run, but headlights emerged.
“Here’s the hole. Climb under and then jump,” Giselle told the scared girl. Giselle suspected her of acting it up for “realism.” What a pain in the ass. The cars were closing in. Then the girl jumped, landing knee-deep in the water and struggling to climb the muddy banks. “Grab this and get out,” Giselle hissed, throwing her radio and stolen backpack. She turned around. Three cars had stopped, and she nestled behind a tree trunk next to the road. Another car chased around the other side of the fence, but surprisingly, no red flared up.
“Come out with your hands in the air. Both of you!” A man screamed. “Ten guns are aimed at your position. No sudden movements. You have ten seconds.”
Fighting to death was an option, but a foolish one.
“Eight, seven,”
It was all over.
“Four, three,”
Giselle stood up, and as promised, an entire squad of douchebags aimed at her. Two green lasers from snipers were aimed at her chest. She raised her weapon, dropped it on the ground like on TV, and kept her arms up.
“Where is she?”
“Let’s negotiate about that,” Giselle replied. They had not seen the former hostage’s dash to the tree line. Giselle had to buy her time. “She is down here with a few grenades. Make a sudden movement, and many here will die or lose limbs.” The improv acting was stupid. Save from some smoke grenades, the threat was non-existent.
“What?”
“You need her alive. Hard to prove some random spy did that. And your men fancy their lives too, don’t they?”
“What do you want!”
“Some respect. Already, allies smuggled a laptop out with proof of your crimes. It was easy to crack. By sunrise, you will be fugitives. Free us, and the government might spare your head. Your guns point at me as a bomb drops from the sky. You are …”
“Stop it. Walk forward. Slowly.”
“First, remove those guns from my chest.” Every second counted. The man waived them away. Giselle shuffled forward, had to kneel, and was patted down.
“She is not here!” a female voice shouted, and Giselle could not help to laugh. The man pushed her to the ground, angry she had bullshitted him, and four opponents taped her up. Arms bent behind, legs together, and a rope pulled down behind her to form a hogtie. She was blindfolded, gagged with more tape, and a handkerchief pressed into her mouth and blindfolded. She was loaded on a jeep and driven away. Her mission was over.
“So close, but so far away. We’ll find that poor little girl,” a woman voiced. She petted Giselle’s shoulder, and she was unable to do anything. She was tied up and captured like a total loser. “Your sacrifice was so brave, admirable, but so wasteful. You should have left, sweetie. We ain’t too kind to murderers.” She pulled Giselle’s legs further back. “It can be tight, you know? And you hate that, don’t you? You will sing like the cute little angel your parents always think you are.”