The Vault - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by NicoPony
Last updated: 08/15/2007 08:57:57 AM

Chapter 11

Remy had never felt so exhausted. It was more than the lack of sleep and caffeine. He’d gone without both before and managed all right. The lethargy must have been another side-effect of losing his powers. As long as he stayed in motion, he was usually fine, even energized. Right now, he felt like a zombie. The sensation of unreality persisted, but the feeling of vertigo had decreased somewhat. He was led, feeling a bit punch-drunk, to another building. The interior looked much like an automobile assembly line. It was filled with the noise of whirring and clanking machinery. Robotic arms moved methodically through their paces. There were other inmates in orange coveralls positioned along the assembly line. The guard, a sickly looking woman with green hair, directed Remy to a station near the beginning of the line.

“Let’s see if you can handle this before we put you on anything more advanced,” she told him. “Betsy will tell you what to do.” The snake-like woman slithered off.

Remy was pleasantly surprised to see that Betsy was an attractive girl with dusky skin and pansy eyes of purple. Her eyes matched her curtain of smooth hair. She smiled at him with her perfect rosebud mouth.

“Hullo,” she said. “I’m so glad to be getting some help. The line has gotten a bit hectic these last few days.”

She had a charming accent as well. Remy couldn’t help himself. He gave her one of his lazy half-smiles. “I might as well lend a hand as long as I’m here,” he drawled.

She looked down her button nose at him, sizing him up with a sly look on her face. “Hmp,” she said in assessment. “All right, then.”

The assembly line process required Betsy to solder an electric component to what looked like an engine block. The part would jerk down the rails set into the cement floor. When the part arrived at Remy’s station, he would attach a series of wires and a cord to the electronic component. Remy would then screw down a protective cover over the electronic component and the whole thing would trundle away to the next station. Remy was given an electric screwdriver, a pallet of mass-produced covers, a box of screws and replacement bits for the drill.

Remy had no idea what the part was, or what it would become. The covers and the screws were made of an unconventional material. Remy speculated they were manufactured out of a polymer. The cords and wires were encased in a similar material. He had plenty of time to wonder about the nature of the project during the long work hours. The work was tedious and boring. The warehouse was hot, the air close and uncomfortable. Betsy rolled up her sleeves, and Remy imitated her. He noted that her arms were firm and sinewy. She had the lithe, compact form of a gymnast. Despite outward pretty-girl appearance, this girl was no cupcake.

There were plenty of things on this island that weren’t what they seemed. The prison wasn’t like any Remy had seen. In his experience, prison cells were small and cramped, large enough for maybe two people but usually crammed with three or four. In prison, the inmates never left the cells or the central community room, save to visit the exercise yard for an half-hour each day. Meals were delivered to the cells, and there was a single public shower in the community room.

Here, the cells were large enough to accommodate two bunks and fit four people comfortably. Prisoners were escorted from one building to another with a minimal number of guards. Many of the corridors ended with blind corners. The floor plan seemed more appropriate for communal living, rather than for housing prisoners or the necessary security. He also thought it strange that they should use enforced labor for such dexterous work. If Apocalypse had resorted to using slaves to build his pyramids, they wouldn’t have stood for millennia. Slaves might be cheap, but their work was shoddy. Remy’s enslavers were idiots if they thought the prisoners wouldn’t resort to sabotage. He unrolled his sleeve and wiped his brow on his forearm. As he re-rolled the sleeve, he secreted several screws and bits in the folded fabric. He exhaled loudly and flapped the collar of his coveralls. Another few screws disappeared.

A lunch break interrupted the monotony of the day. The workers ate sandwiches and drank musty warm water from refilled bottles. There were only a handful of assembly line workers. After a long morning, none were particularly communicative or friendly. That was fine by Remy. Having listened to John’s non-stop dialog all night, he needed a break. Now he knew how Piotr must feel having shared a room with Remy these last few weeks. After lunch, his thoughts had turned more somber than contemplative. After seeing Jean’s face this morning, he’d allowed himself to become extremely angry. Not at her, but at what she had been reduced to. Jean could be hard as nails when she wanted to be, but she was probably the most sensitive and caring girl he’d ever met. He hated that this place and these people had made her cry. So he yelled at her. That had snapped her out of it, brought a little of her old self back. Her anger would be her shield. Her anger would keep her safe. Unbidden, an image of Rogue appeared in his mind’s eye. Now there was a girl with some heavy duty armor. Remy was finally brought out of his reverie by a sounding klaxon. The assembly line came to a halt.

“How’d you like your first day?” Betsy asked.

“Now I know what an honest day’s work is like,” Remy responded. “Pretty crappy.”

The prisoners were led from the warehouse and divided male and female. Each group was led back to their respective prisons. Remy got a brief view of the outside encampment before re-entering the building. They were reunited with the other male prisoners who had spent the day outdoors. St. John was looking sunburned, but retained his usual cocky smirk. Remy noticed the guard, Blockbuster, glowering in John’s direction. Blockbuster was joined by Harpoon, and the two men shared a brief, grunted conversation. The threat of imminent danger prickled the back of Remy’s neck.

Once inside, they were led to another part of the facility that included a locker room and communal shower. Each inmate was issued a towel, a bar of soap and a toothbrush. Remy sat on the metal bench that was affixed between two walls of lockers. It felt good to sit for a few minutes. He pulled off a sock and dropped the bar of soap into it and wrapped the slack end around his fist. He stuck the end of the plastic toothbrush into the metal grating of the bench and twisted until the toothbrush snapped. He popped his neck, then sat staring at the lockers, waiting.

“C’mon, Remy,” chided John. “Don’t tell me you’re shy!”

Remy remained stoic, casting a sidelong glance at John. From the corner of his eye, he spied Blockbuster behind John. Harpoon was approaching from the other end of the line of lockers, closing John and Remy between himself and Blockbuster. Remy slowly stood and turned to John, who was suddenly realizing the trouble he was in.

Harpoon spoke to Remy’s back: “Get lost. This is between us and the flamer.”

Remy looked over his shoulder at Harpoon, and nodded slowly. It occurred to John that he was about to be abandoned.

“Hey, help a pal out!” he cried.

“Sorry, Allerdyce,” Remy said, “you’ve brought this on yourself.”

Remy approached Harpoon and had almost passed the man when his arm flew out, the sock laden with the bar of soap swished viciously through the air. The makeshift weapon caught Harpoon in the side of his head, and he cried out in pain while banging into the lockers with a clang. Remy then threw a dampened towel into Blockbuster’s face, just as the huge man was about to dive at John. John nimbly leapt away as Blockbuster flailed at empty air. Remy aimed a kick at the back of Harpoon’s knee, driving the man to the floor. Seizing him by his hair, he rammed Harpoon’s chin into the metal bench.

By now, Blockbuster had whipped the towel away and was advancing on John and brandishing his nightstick. John was forced to dive to the floor. He crab-walked away from the enraged guard. Remy pulled the nightstick from Harpoon’s belt and slid it across the floor to John. Blockbuster swished his weapon, aiming to take off John’s head. John deflected the blow with his forearm, which gave a sickening crack when the nightstick connected. John gave a shout of pain which turned into a battle cry. He jammed the end of his newly acquired nightstick into Blockbuster’s gut. The big man grunted, but went largely unharmed. Remy jumped onto the bench and aimed another swing with the bar-soap-turned-cudgel. Blockbuster threw up an arm, and the weapon wrapped itself harmlessly around his wrist. With a yank, he wrested it from Remy’s grip. Simultaneously, John swung his truncheon into Blockbuster’s knee. Blockbuster faltered, his knee bending under his weight. John’s nightstick drove up into Blockbuster’s throat and the man gagged. Remy used the opportunity to throw himself at the huge man and drive his sharpened toothbrush into the man’s side. Blockbuster howled in pain and rage. Remy was thrown away. He hit the lockers, but was ready to come back fighting in an instant.

Remy suddenly felt an explosion of pain between his shoulder blades and stars danced before his eyes. His limbs had gone rigid and refused to obey him as he fell forward. He hit the cement floor just as a bright arc of energy sizzled past his head, striking John in the chest. John collapsed in a twitching heap. Someone was slowly approaching. A dark figure’s booted feet stopped in Remy’s line of vision. He managed to turn his head to see one of the armored Executioners looking down at him through the holes in his cowl. The man was holding his silver staff, the end was glowing softly. Blockbuster was growling and holding the wound in his side. Harpoon had climbed to his feet. He spat out a few broken teeth and was about to dive at Remy. The Executioner held out his staff and both Blockbuster and Harpoon backed away nervously.

“Leave these two to me,” the man said, his voice echoing hollowly out of his mask. The two guards turned and went, glancing over their shoulders with hate in their eyes.

The Executioner bent and grasped both prone boys by their collars and pulled them to their feet. “To the vault with you,” he said ominously. With that, he led the two reeling boys from the locker room and to whatever fate awaited them.