Between a Bear and a Hard Place(43)

The air was unnaturally cool and a whirring sound met his ears every few seconds that must have been some kind of circulation system. The smell of the place was musty, like the still air of an old bar. He’d been in plenty of those in his life, but he’d take even the most dingy, most awful, of any of those, over this.

Gasmask just stared.

He’d decided that this one’s name was Gasmask Stump. The gasmask part was for the gasmask he wore. The stump was for the way the man... creature... the whatever’s fingers, were shorter than they should have been.

“Talk to me, Gasmask,” Rogue whispered. His throat had gone raw, but he wasn’t quite sure why. His shoulders both ached, and the muscles running down either side of his torso burned like he’d been screaming for hours. But again, he couldn’t remember anything except standing in the same place, for what seemed like a numbed-out eternity. “You have to be bored by now. I know you’re the same one of you, so don’t act like you’re not the one I’ve been talking to for the last... however long.”

Gasmask cleared his throat. Or at least, that’s what it sorta sounded like. The static in his voice shifted a bit, and he moved his weight from one foot to the other. He was definitely not the same as the others. This one had almost human characteristics. Vaguely, Rogue remembered calling him a robot, but wasn’t sure what had happened after that.

Maybe nothing.

It had been a long time since he ate anything. Rogue’s thoughts weren’t exactly clear. At least, that’s what he assumed it must be. He wasn’t in the habit of blacking out.

“No.” Gasmask’s voice was slightly irritated. None of the others ever got anything other than the same tone in their voice. “Not bored. Just... waiting.”

Rogue squinted, trying to see out of his cell into the hall. The way the lights were kept – bright as all hell in the cells, dark-ish in the hallways, that was impossible. The only thing he could see was the black-clad face in front of him, staring endlessly back.

From down the hall, a scream burst through the silence. It wasn’t just a pained scream, or the cry of someone who was hurt – it was the sort of wretched, terrifying screech that only comes when someone’s soul is being ripped out of their body. It would be the way Rogue imagined he’d scream if anything happened to Jill.

He leaned back against the cold steel wall, and watched King groan. There was nothing he could do. More than anything, Rogue hated this feeling of utter helplessness, complete uselessness. But he could either fight it, and feel worse, or just accept reality. He knew he needed to come up with some way to get away and get back to Jill and whoever that new girl was. He needed to cook up some plan to find the other bears – the two Broken Pines he’d only met a day before... maybe two? Three? He had no idea how long he’d been in this hole. But he needed to find them and get the hell out.

“Come.”

“Huh?” Rogue was jolted out of his daydream. “Me?”

“Your friend is on the floor.” That cold, static, robotic voice said. There was a slight hum whenever Gasmask spoke, like the hum of a speaker when no sound was coming through it, but it was on. The drone irritated Rogue, it made the blood in his temples thump just a little harder.

Something about it reminded him of that strange horn that put all the Lupines into a rage the last time he encountered a GlasCorp stooge. Then again, last time he encountered them, it was on his own terms, in his territory. Now, he was in theirs.

The door slid open, soundlessly, and Gasmask took two heel-clicking steps into the chamber. “Come. Someone wishes to see you.”

“That sounds vaguely like an invitation,” Rogue hissed, curling his lip in a sneer.

When his shackles were removed, and the plastic cord between his feet released, he waited for a moment.

“Come.”

“What, you’re not going to put anything else on me? Just gonna let me walk through here without any restraints? Is that a smart thing to do? I murdered eight of your buddies, you know.”

“Yes,” Gasmask answered. “Although, not murder. Hard to murder us, really. Impossible, maybe? I’m not sure. No one’s tried.”

Instead of being cold and distant, Gasmask sounded vaguely interested, as though he was at that moment, wondering about it in a scientifically curious sort of way.

“Right,” Rogue said. “I tore their heads off anyway. So, no handcuffs?”

“What for?” Gasmask reached for Rogue’s hand, clasped it, and jerked him forward with surprising strength for such a slight figure. “You aren’t going to do anything except what you’re told.”