"Imprisonment is a myth. The only imprisonment possible is that of the mind. However, not even the most refined intelligence can break the chains to bind hands and feet. In such a situation, it is suggested you use the "Uyala Technique" described in Appendix III. Begin by grabbing the back of your right ankle with your left hand..."
-Excerpt from "The Aspirant's Guide to Sabotage: 7th Collection" by Makli Huja
//VENUS
//THE LYCURGE
//13.30.5048 AV
//4TH LEVEL, CENTRAL HALL
“Your personal belongings are likely stored deep within the Lycurge’s contraband vaults. We do not have time to find them.”
Kritha nodded, and said, “I am aware. I knew the risks; I didn’t bring anything valuable.”
He paused as they came across an intersection along the central hall, before turning left and sprinting once again.
The man turned his head to look at Kritha as he ran. “I can hear them approaching from the east hall. We will head down the stairway and exit on the 2nd level. From there, we run to the flight deck. There is a cargo shuttle waiting.”
“Right.”
He stopped, pointed to a corpse. “The dead guard there. Take this sidearm.”
Kritha stopped and crouched over the dead shieldguard, removing the shoulder holster carrying a compact Cyclade pistol. Hammer already cocked, with chambers loaded. Buckshot shells.
A Cytherean would be considered underdressed if they went outside without it. Where did she hear that from? She couldn't recall.
The man examined his own weapon. A revolver-shotgun of sorts, clearly had its own personal modifications, but still recognizable as a Gryslar. The name literally meant "Gry Killer" in the Old Imperial tongue, so named for the Traitor-Councillor whose armies this gun was utilized to kill during the First Necromantic War.
Primitive. Maybe so.
Turning the corner, she saw a sealed door for an airlock at the end of the hall. She also saw 3 shieldguard detyr running towards it, and the undead horde they were running from. A pile of corpses, constantly pushing and pulling each other, resulting in a circular motion, a spinning wheel of arms, legs, and mouths. Sounds of screams, groans, and breaking bones could be heard from it.
One of the detyr pushed the others head before facing the swarm. Her badge and uniquely designed cloaked suit indicated her purpose- Pyromancer. Purple light shone from the palms of her hands as she opened two thaumatic gates before them, extending her hands outwards and pointing the gates towards the oncoming horde. Twin streams of fire shot out, incinerating the undead. They screamed in agony, noise matched only by the furious roar of the pyromancer in response. It seemed the other two were struggling to get the door open- locked. They pounded against the glass- whoever was outside was long gone. Seeing this, the pyromancer pressed onward, cutting through the mob of breathless dead like a knife through flesh, attempting to make a path through the mass. But it did nothing. She moved forward, but the horde closed in the path she made, encircling her. The flames sputtered and died as she screamed in agony, undead ripping her asunder with the sickening sound of flesh tearing apart.
Realizing the futility of the attempt, the other two turned to hold them back with their own weapons. It did next to nothing, but they fought nonetheless. Eventually, the three were buried under flaming corpses, suffocating and screaming as the mound of undead tore them apart. The sound of a pin pulled could be heard, then gore splattered across the hall. They pulled a grenade, a last act of defiance, and conveniently clearing the way for Kritha and her companion.
"Do you have a cutter?" she asked, despite already knowing the answer.
"I am not an idiot. Neither are you." The response was flat, to the point, and monotone. However, there was a tinge of sarcasm.
Progress.
"Just making conversation." she lied.
"Strange. This is an odd time to do it." He reached into his pack. He pulled out a device that resembled a welder in form, but bore a energy cell on the rear. Pointing it at the hinges of the door, he pulled the trigger. The plasma was ionized and then heated in the primary chamber of the cutter, before firing out at incredible speed and heat, burning through the hinges in moments. He kept the beam directly at the hooks holding the door to the frame, not vice versa. Before it cut through entirely, he kicked the door so that the door fell outward and away from them. He turned to Kritha. "The outer door cannot be locked. With the inner breached, we should be able to progress." And the man's assumption was correct- they could open the second door of the airlock just fine. Kritha put on a dead man's mask before exiting. The oxygen supply was untouched.
Air thick with smoke and the smell of burnt bodies was all around them. The scent hit Kritha like a train as she exited the Lycurge. Above, below, and around them, there was little else but bodies, most of which were undead.
The pit-city extended seemingly forever downward, and looking up, one could see the harsh, brown sky of Venus hanging above. Many apartments and buildings lined the sides of the pit. Most were empty as the residents evacuated to higher levels. There was immense traffic as atmospheric craft rushed to get outside of the pit- some crashed.
The undead hordes rose through the city, layer by layer. The pyromancer brigades and detyr squads could barely hold them back.
"There is the craft." The man pointed to a fairly small Vetoll craft the type of which Kritha couldn't recognize.
She cocked an eyebrow, but the effect was lost under the mask. "Unusual ship."
He nodded. "Custom made. Come."
They rushed to the ship, the man entering a code before the doors opened. He hopped in and helped Kritha get into the higher-up back seat, like the compartments of a jet. Many detyr saw them as they themselves rushed to their own craft or to fight the undead, but they had bigger problems. The sounds of gryslar firing rang out as the guards fought so others could evacuate.
As the Vetoll took off, the thrusters adjusted automatically- first pointing downward to raise the ship, and rotating while the ship remained horizontal as they cleared the hangar. Once they were in the open, the man directed the nose of the ship directly upward and pushed the throttle as far as it would go.
The speed forced Kritha into her seat. She yelled, "A BIT DANGEROUS!" but the sound was somewhat muted by the thrusters.
"I AM AWARE!"
They shot out of the pit's rim like a bullet from a gun. Once they were outside of the flood of other craft, the man adjusted the ship to a horizontal position and set the piloting to automatic. It was heading to a location Kritha couldn't recognize.
The man tore off his helmet, and so did Kritha, both taking a deep, relieved breath of the admittedly awful air.
Still better than the mask of a dead man.
"A successful evacuation." The man turned towards Kritha and gave a strange smile, or at least what he thought a smile should look like. One side of his mouth raised, the rest following suit, his lips peeling back to show his teeth, but it was so unsynchronized and excessive it looked more like a parody of a smile if anything. Most Cythereans didn't show their emotions with their faces. The rebels often encouraged their members to. "I wi- I should introduce myself. I am Imatsur, and you ar-"
She held up a hand. "I know who you are." She didn't, but the name sounded familiar. "How did you know the necromancers would cause an uprising now?"
"Know?" His faux-smile faded. "We planned for it." Kritha cocked an eyebrow, and while it was more visible than before, Imatsur likely had no idea what it meant. She pressed again."What do you mean?"
His mouth fumbled a bit as he found the words. "Well, we negotiated with them. We would give them an...opening, to attack Kyther from below. In exchange, they would give us our own opening to rescue the daughter of our rebel leader. Erm, you."
Kritha's formerly flat expression turned red. "You let this happen?! Thousands of people dead- tens of thousands! Hundreds! Look around you- we haven't seen an undead assault of this scale on Kyther in centuries!"
Imatsur looked downward, with a confused expression, unsure how to react. "We were able to move our members out of the city in time."
"And everyone else?"
"It was...your father said it would...it's an acceptable loss." He clearly copied what others had said word for word.
Kritha mumbled something under her breath. Damn her father. All this for her?
You'll be worth it.
"What?" Imatsur looked concerned now.
She gave another lie. "Nothing, nothing. What did you say?"
This time, he cocked his own eyebrow. "It was not just for you."
She let out a sigh. "Of course."
Their ship flew onward and they were left in an uneasy silence. The clouds were thicker than the norm. One could hardly see Neith with the weather. The moon's glow normally could only be seen every gregorian year or so.
"Hey, Imatsur." He jumped a little. He turned away from the mapscreen to see Kritha pointing a finger towards him. "Why would they send an engineer to break into a prison?"
He shrugged. "I'm not a very good one, so losing me wo-"
Kritha shook her head. "No, no, your ship and gryslar is clearly expertly self-modified. You'd have to adjust the throttle yourself if you could pull the stunt you just did in the pit. Your gun has a modified stock and receiver so that you wouldn't break your arm firing it since you're not a detyr-breed clone. You knew exactly how to cut through that door before- where to fire that plasma cutter and how long. 'I am not an idiot. Neither are you.' Why're you here?"
He turned beet red. Some expressions were simply known. "Well-" he rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, anyone else would've gotten it wrong."
Kritha smiled. "Fair enough."
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