mountain climbing
May. 22nd, 2015 03:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
The whole job was a mess.
Miles finds himself stuck in the basement of a Jacksonian corporate building, the lift he'd used to arrive collapsed behind him and groaning shrilly with the sound of steel sliding against concrete as it settles. Dust clouds the air. Someone had cut the cable, someone prepared, because cutting industrial grade, ten centimeter lift cable took malice aforethought. You didn't have those kinds of bolt cutters just lying around.
He eyes the jammed lift doors grimly. No sense waiting here to be cornered. Turning immediately to leave, Miles searches through the surrounding rooms with all the urgency of trapped prey. They'd succeeded in separating him from his escort, and however frantic Taura was upstairs and outside, even her formidable strength would be no use. Miles has his combat armor and a plasma arc and a stunner-- the stunner he has out at the ready-- and his now useless command helmet, the meters of concrete and dirt between him and the surface cutting him off more effectively than any communications jammer. They'd planned this, oh yes. They'd planned this very well.
When he finds what he presumes is a laundry dumb waiter in the laundry room, he stares at it and sighs. Once again, his tiny frame is going to get him out of a situation with a method that he wouldn't be able to use if he were a normal person. Obviously if they've cut the elevator they'll be attempting to herd him toward the stairs, or at least trying to enclose him somewhere he'd be backed into making a desperate, futile last stand. With this dumb waiter, he doesn't have to do either.
Grumbling to himself about the unfairness of being stuck in vents or vent-like spaces again, Miles slaps the button for the uppermost floor available-- best to get as far away as possible; he can get an emergency pick up from the roof if necessary, and they certainly won't be anticipating that-- and clambers in. He just barely fits, yanking a last foot out of the way before the hatch closes and the box starts to crawl upward. Miles hurriedly checks that the safeties are engaged on both his weapons and settles in for what is sure to be several minutes of claustrophobic tedium.
He has no idea where he'll be coming out. It sends a little thrill of excitement through him, actually.
Miles finds himself stuck in the basement of a Jacksonian corporate building, the lift he'd used to arrive collapsed behind him and groaning shrilly with the sound of steel sliding against concrete as it settles. Dust clouds the air. Someone had cut the cable, someone prepared, because cutting industrial grade, ten centimeter lift cable took malice aforethought. You didn't have those kinds of bolt cutters just lying around.
He eyes the jammed lift doors grimly. No sense waiting here to be cornered. Turning immediately to leave, Miles searches through the surrounding rooms with all the urgency of trapped prey. They'd succeeded in separating him from his escort, and however frantic Taura was upstairs and outside, even her formidable strength would be no use. Miles has his combat armor and a plasma arc and a stunner-- the stunner he has out at the ready-- and his now useless command helmet, the meters of concrete and dirt between him and the surface cutting him off more effectively than any communications jammer. They'd planned this, oh yes. They'd planned this very well.
When he finds what he presumes is a laundry dumb waiter in the laundry room, he stares at it and sighs. Once again, his tiny frame is going to get him out of a situation with a method that he wouldn't be able to use if he were a normal person. Obviously if they've cut the elevator they'll be attempting to herd him toward the stairs, or at least trying to enclose him somewhere he'd be backed into making a desperate, futile last stand. With this dumb waiter, he doesn't have to do either.
Grumbling to himself about the unfairness of being stuck in vents or vent-like spaces again, Miles slaps the button for the uppermost floor available-- best to get as far away as possible; he can get an emergency pick up from the roof if necessary, and they certainly won't be anticipating that-- and clambers in. He just barely fits, yanking a last foot out of the way before the hatch closes and the box starts to crawl upward. Miles hurriedly checks that the safeties are engaged on both his weapons and settles in for what is sure to be several minutes of claustrophobic tedium.
He has no idea where he'll be coming out. It sends a little thrill of excitement through him, actually.