White surveyed the wreckage of the lobby. The smashed detritus of tables and armchairs crunched under her feet as she walked. She wished she could have seen it happen. Nothing cheered her up quite like a riot.
The stench of magnesium burned her nose as she entered the elevator, the remnants of a flash-bang. White hit the button for the second sub-basement, pressed her keycard against the pad and chuckled to herself. The status report she had read told her the captives had flash-banged a hall full of guards as well as themselves to escape. It had been a long time since she’d encountered a group of the fun ones. Most of her targets, if they managed to escape, simply ran away and tried to hide. Tried.
The fun ones, though, were much less predictable. Put up more of a fight. And were, in the end, much more satisfying. It was the difference between beef jerky and a t-bone steak.
As the elevator doors slid open, the sight of two MP5 barrels greeted her. It had become company policy to cover the elevator in case of intruders, and after what had happened she couldn’t blame them for tightening security. As soon as they recognized her, however, the guards lowered their weapons with apologetic looks on their faces.
“Sorry Ms. White. Standard procedure, you know.”
“Not a problem. Where’s the prisoner I requested?”
“Room 68. He should be awake by now.”
As she walked, she looked in the windows to her left and right, remembering her various hunts. The lengths she had gone to to put some of these things away. The majority of the rooms on this floor were research labs, but some of the things they studied… getting them into the lab had been hard enough. They had simply sealed the rooms, converting what had been labs into cells.
Room 68. One of the torture suites. White checked the window. All was as it should be. One prisoner, two guards. She went inside, noting that the previous, obviously obsolete wooden chairs had already been replaced with steel reinforced dentistry chairs. Aurora tended not to dither when it came to improving on their weak areas. The man bound in the chair glared daggers at her, unable to speak due to the tape over his mouth.
“Detective Sutton. We have things to discuss.” She ripped the duct tape off his face. “Your friends… those little vigilantes over on the Hill. I need to know everything you know.”
White unsheathed her blade. She usually let the technicians take care of this sort of thing, but she was in a… playful mood. She pressed the long thin knife against his left hand and pushed. She was rewarded with a grunt of pain and a trickle of blood. Her knife sank slowly into his flesh.