@gatecoeur continued from here
The moment he had stepped into the car, Kaey has known it was likely that he wouldn’t walk out of it. At first, it had imply been a sense of vertigo, but then, ears twitching, he had picked up the sound just below the din of the train wheels and wind: a slow, measured beeping. And as he listened, somewhere beyond that final confrontation the rhythmic tone turned more insistent, and he knew what had to be done. It was a simple choice, an easy one.
His adversary didn’t try to stop him as he turned back and dislodged the connector between the train cars, and locked the door for good measure. When he turned back, the other man was just standing there, watching him. This was how it was always meant to play out, it seemed. A final act played out to the climactic end, a sacrificial lamb laying in wait. Bait. But, as long as he stood there, the assassin knew this would claim two lives, not a third, and he was comforted by that thought, knowing the fate his friend and colleague had avoided.
As he watched, the man slowly smiled, raising an eyebrow, and then his hands in a sheepish, almost comedic, shrug. Behind him, the beeping reached a crescendo.
“ Aleksey sends his regards. “ The man said, voice low and calm, unbothered. There was no fear in his voice, only matter-of-fact solemnity, and maybe, just maybe, Kaey could hear a tinge of his mentor’s old smile in those words, his voice beneath it: checkmate, blackbird.
The train entered the tunnel, and suddenly the beeping stopped. Ears twitching, he reached up and removed his protective goggles, then took a step back. Raising his gaze, he took another step, and met the eyes of the man, who turned pallid under his stare. Kaey sees the man’s face fall in the instant before the cars lights flicker out, leaving nothing in the remaining darkness but the sound of the bomb arming, and the final click of detonation.
In the end, being left in the dark without sound or feeling made progress back to daylight slow and painful. Ears and eyes straining, the assassin stumbled amidst the wreckage and rubble. Without knowing how far he was from the tunnel exit, and not even knowing if he was going the right way, it was impossible to tell how long the trek would take, so he tried to save his strength. He dared not stop, not even to catch his breath, lest his intense focus fizzled out and he found himself lost beneath the mountainside for good.
As he moved through the void, body aching and mind screaming, he told himself that this was not going to be the end. Aleksey wasn’t going to win this way, not this easily. And surely his mentor had known. So, not a final act, then. A test. A punishment. Even now, as removed as he was from his old captor, the man still doled out his consequences and trials likes Kaey’s training had never even stopped. No matter which direction the assassin moved, the game of chess continued, the rules changing all the while. It was tiring. So tiring.
Suddenly, he felt the air change, turning fresh and light in his lungs. The closeness of the dark slowly subsided, and his vision brightened into a blur of muted colors. Still, he heard nothing but his own heart beating in his chest, and still, he refused to stop until he knew for certain that he was free of the rubble. He stumbles out of the wreckage a phantom, unhindered by the weight of stone and steel. His form is faded and desaturated, sometimes there and sometimes nothing more than an afterimage, the guttering flame of a candle.
Only when he is sure he has reached the expanse of grass stretching between the tracks and the forested cliffside does he finally take a deep breath, his soundless movement suddenly becoming the scuffle of heavy feet on the dirt and rocks, the hard impact of his knees hitting the ground, and then his hands. The weight of his body is too much, his mind an agony. Unlike the silent film specter he had seemed only seconds before, Kaey was now a breathing, heaving form streaked with dirt and blood beneath a sky bruising under the threat of night.
When his body finally meets the ground it flickers more, even when his breathing slows with unconsciousness. He can feel the grass, damp and soft, beneath him. He can see the speckling of stars already appearing in the sky above him as the sun descends towards the horizon. He can feel the mountain air, crisp and sweet in his lungs, drawing a chill into his chest. Kaey’s ears are still ringing, his sight blurred, but he’s alive, breathing in the openness.
His whole body aches, down into his bones and blood, and his head is killing him, pounding. All he knows is that he is tired and sore and that the open air feels wonderful against his sweat-slicked hair and bruised skin, that it was pleasant to full unconscious to.
Maybe he is a ghost, laying there beyond the collapsed tunnel, a flickering form sometimes too faded to touch or feel or sense. Maybe he is just a shadow of the person who had been on the train, an imprint of his soul. Or maybe he was alive, breathing, tired. So very tired.
