Taylor Hebert, Medhall Intern Pt 19 (Patreon)

When in Doubt, Run Away

[A/N: This chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


Greg

"So, how's things going with you anyway?" Greg leaned against the security desk, idly pulling off his safety gloves and stowing them in his backpack.

"Not too bad, actually." Brian glanced at a screen and clicked the mouse, then looked back up at him. "This is a pretty good job, and the guys are starting to warm up to me."

"Good. That's good." Greg paused. "I just wanted to thank you for volunteering to help Bradley and Melody with training me and Taylor. I think we were really both starting to get it there, at the end."

Brian shrugged. "That's no problem. You're both willing to learn, and you're at least kind of fit, which makes you good students." He glanced around, then lowered his voice slightly. "Unlike some. Just saying."

Greg knew exactly who he was talking about, and why he'd lowered his voice. "Yeah. She was a bit of a dick to Theo too, when we were leaving."

"Wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. I'm actually wondering—" But what he was wondering went by the wayside when Greg's phone went off. "You should probably get that."

"Right." With a glance back toward the bank of elevators—Taylor usually wasn't this late coming out—Greg pulled out his phone and strolled a few steps away from the security desk while he flicked the Answer icon. He didn't recognise the number, but that didn't mean it was a miss-call. "Greg here. Who is this, and how can I help you?"

"Greg!" It was Taylor's voice, kept low and filled with more urgency than he'd ever heard from her before; even the time he'd loaned her his phone to call Tracey that one time. "Can't talk! I need a secret passage out of the building! Life or death!"

Taken aback, he blinked in confusion. "What—?"

The call cut off, leaving him staring at the phone. What the hell? What's going on here? He recalled telling Taylor about the 'secret passages', and how Ms Harcourt and the young women had hidden in there from Shadow Stalker, but he had no idea why she needed him to sneak her out that way now.

… actually, on second thought, he did have an idea. She'd been looking for information to link Ed Ferguson with Tracey's death. If Ed was in the building and had figured out what she was doing …

But it didn't matter. Taylor had called for help, and he would go the distance for her. It was that simple.

Doing his best to pretend to be casual, he slid his phone back into his pocket and returned to the desk. "Dude, can I ask a huge favour? One of the guys upstairs just called and said I left my wallet in the maintenance storage room, but they're busy and can't bring it down. Okay if I just slip back up there and grab it?"

Brian frowned. "You're not supposed to be in employee spaces after your shift ends, but … hold on." He picked up a phone and made a quick call. Greg could hear him relaying the excuse and asking if it was okay to let him back through. He jittered, wishing he could just bolt upstairs, but knowing that any stunt like that would probably get him tackled and tased, and then he wouldn't be able to help Taylor.

"Okay." Brian put the phone down. "I'm going to escort you up. Joe says he can hold down the desk while we're up there."

"Just don't be too long," one of the other guards said as he came out of the back area. "Hey, Greg."

"Hey, Joe." Greg swiped himself back through, and they headed for the elevators. His mind was turning over scenarios at a thousand miles per hour, trying to figure out how to ditch Brian after he got hold of a maintenance keyring.

They entered the elevator and Greg hit the button for the floor he needed; the doors closed, and the elevator started upward. It seemed to be inching along, but Greg did his best to hide his urgency. The last thing he wanted was for Brian to wonder what was going on.

"Okay, so what's actually going on?" asked Brian. "You're trying not to show it, but one of my friends is a regular Sherlock, and she's given me pointers on spotting body language. This is about more than a wallet, isn't it?"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Not only was Brian a ton more skilled and six inches taller than Greg, but an elevator offered exactly zero places to run to. If this came to a fight, Greg knew he would not only lose, he'd lose badly.

As the elevator rumbled upward, he tried frantically to think of what to say.

<><>​

Taylor

Keeping one eye on Ms Harcourt's back, I pushed the restroom door open, then stepped away and ducked back into Tracey's office area. Behind me, the restroom door automatically closed, but by that time I was out of her line of sight again. I needed a hiding place and I needed it fast, but I couldn't go too far from the kitchenette; Greg would likely be coming out of the maintenance door there.

Slipping my shoes off—they were comfortable, but I wanted to be able to move silently, and bare feet was better for that—I stuck them in my backpack. After looking around frantically, I pulled Tracey's chair out and ducked down into the footwell. With the chair pulled in as far as I could manage, it would hopefully look like there was nobody under there; for once, my skinny frame was working for me instead of against.

Now it was just a waiting game. I didn't know when Ms Harcourt would get the memo that I had accessed Tracey's account, and I didn't know when Greg would get here. All I could do was pray that he was more on the ball than whoever was running the computer security.

<><>​

Victor

Alexander Grayson frowned as he looked up from his paperwork and realised that a notification had popped up in the corner of his screen. It had been waiting for some little time, but at least it wasn't an outside breach. However, the fact that he'd gotten the notification at all meant it was significant.

With a sigh, he moved the mouse and clicked on it. The new window opened, showing that someone had accessed an area of the network that he thought he'd closed off to most personnel after the Grimshaw near-debacle. He focused on the account name … and froze.

"What the fuck?" he murmured. It was Grimshaw's account, but he knew damn well Grimshaw was locked in a room in the bottom sub-basement level until they could get around to disposing of her without leaving a trace. They'd already fucked up by faking her death instead of killing her for real, and now they were stuck with her unless they wanted the authorities wondering why there were two of her in the morgue.

Pulling all his copious investigative skills to the fore, he started in on the problem, determining who had accessed Grimshaw's account and what they'd seen. The latter was a real problem; they'd traced over what Grimshaw had uncovered and taken to Harcourt. But it was the former that was the ultimate kicker. Alex traced the access point back to the terminal in question, thinking it was going to be Grimshaw's, but it wasn't. Instead, it was the one Taylor Hebert had been using.

Grabbing up his phone, he hit the speed-dial for the first number in the queue. "Max," he said tersely. "We have a real problem. Hebert just backtraced what Grimshaw found out. She knows, Max. She's seen it all."

To his credit, Max didn't indicate the slightest sign of incredulity. This was Hebert they were talking about. She was almost as good at ferreting things out as Victor was, and he had a power helping him out. "Fuck. Is she still in the building?"

Alex hit a few keys, calling up the swipe card registry. "She hasn't swiped out yet, and her last computer entry was … thirty seconds ago."

"Any sign her boyfriend is in on it with her?"

"None, but I didn't know she had any idea. If she's shared anything at all with him … I mean, he came across as a total loser, but she's turned him all the way around." He didn't have to mention Veder's spectacular takedown of Shadow Stalker.

"Good point. We're going to have to deal with both of them. Where's he?"

Victor scrolled down the registry. "Signed out, as of three minutes ago."

"He'll be waiting for her. You go down to the lobby and get him back inside. I'll contact Harcourt and tell her to hold Hebert right where she is."

"Gotcha. On my way." Jumping up from his desk, Alex vaulted over it and headed for his office door. He felt real regret at the way things were going—Hebert had literally saved his life—but maybe they could talk the two around. After all, Harcourt had unexpectedly sided with Medhall.

It was worth a try, anyway.

He power-walked along the corridor to the elevator bank and hit the down button. As soon as one of the elevators opened, he jumped in and mashed the button for the lobby. It seemed to take forever to descend the distance, and he was ready to throttle whoever had composed the music that accompanied the trip by the time he got to the bottom.

Striding out of the elevator, he made his way to the desk, where one of the guards—Joe, he believed—was dealing with a member of the public. Veder was nowhere in sight. Okay, he must be outside.

He swiped his way through the barrier, and stepped out through the automatic doors, already composing the excuse to get Veder to re-enter the building. But even when he descended the steps to street level and looked around, he couldn't see the young man. Fuming at the delay, he dashed up the steps once more and headed over to the desk.

"Mr Grayson," Joe greeted him respectfully. "How can I help you?"

Alex bit back his impatience, and assumed a calm, casual demeanour. "I'm looking for Greg Veder, one of the interns. Has he been out this way?"

"Yeah, he has." Joe rolled his eyes. "Moron forgot his wallet, so Laborn's escorting him back up to the maintenance room to get it. You just missed them. Did you want to leave a message, sir?"

"Yes. Tell him that when he comes back, to wait right here in the lobby. We have some very important news for him." Alex forced himself to smile, as though the bearer of good tidings. "Do you have that?"

"Wait … here … good … news." Joe looked up from the notepad. "Yes, sir. I'll be sure to tell him."

"Good." Alex swiped himself back through and speed-walked toward the elevators. Even as he hit the button to go up, he was pulling out his phone to update Max and bring Bradley into the loop. This was an all-hands-on-deck situation if he'd ever seen one.

<><>​

Brian

"Well?" asked Brian, after Greg hadn't said a word in several seconds. He liked Greg and Taylor—they'd gotten him into this job, after all—but that wasn't going to stop him from doing that same job.

Greg was looking in every direction but him, and every second glance was at the floor indicator. He didn't know if Greg was a fast runner—he was only moderate, himself—and the last thing he wanted was for the guy to do a bolt with him chasing after through the corridors of Medhall. That would be the absolute maximum in bad optics for security in general and himself in particular.

Leaning over, he hit the 'stop' button; the elevator jolted to a halt. Greg stared at him. "What did you do that for?"

"Because I asked a question, and you haven't answered." Brian liked to think he was a patient guy, but everything had its limits. "When you tell me what you really want to go up again for, then maybe we can go."

"Fuck …" Greg looked more frazzled than Brian had ever seen him, and then he ran his hands through his hair and redoubled the look. Taking a deep breath, he looked Brian straight in the eye. "Taylor called me. She's in some kind of trouble, and needs to get right out of the building. She asked me to take her out through the maintenance spaces. I just need to get the maintenance keys to do it with."

Brian frowned. "Taylor's in trouble? Last I heard, she was the fair-haired girl. What would she be in trouble for?"

"Okay, okay, she'll probably yell at me for telling you this, but we've been having trouble at school with a guy called Peter Ferguson, who's connected to the Empire Eighty-Eight. The other day, Taylor found out his dad is also connected. That's Ed Ferguson, Max Anders' brother-in-law. And we've seen Peter's dad right here in the Medhall building. He runs a company that Medhall does business with."

Brian blinked; whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that. As it was, the mention of the Empire Eighty-Eight definitely got his attention. "Jeez … okay. So, what do you think's going on here? Why would Taylor want to sneak out of the building?"

Greg shrugged desperately. "I'm thinking maybe Mr Ferguson is here in the building right now, and somehow knows what she found out. But I wanted to get her to safety first and ask questions after."

That … kind of made sense to Brian. "Right, okay. But if I find out she's been stealing company secrets or something, I am going to hand you both over to Bradley and wash my hands of you. Understood?"

Greg stared at him incredulously. "Stealing company secrets? Taylor's had a thousand chances to do that, and she's never done it once. She's saved them millions. That's why we're getting paid full adult salaries as interns."

"Ah. Right." Brian hadn't known that. He took a deep breath, and made a leap of faith. "Okay, let's do this. But we'll do it my way."

"I don't care how we do it, just so long as we do it!"

Greg's desperation for Taylor's safety, more than anything else, convinced Brian. He hit the start button, then the button for the next floor.

"What?" Greg stared. "We need to get to the maintenance room, so I can get keys!"

Brian hefted the bunch of keys on his hip, making a jingling sound. While maintenance had certain keys, security had them all. "What, like these?"

The look of embarrassed realisation on Greg's face was like the sun rising. "Ah. Yeah. Those keys."

<><>​

Taylor

I waited, crouched in the footwell of the desk, just long enough to wonder if I shouldn't have made a run for the elevator, or even the fire stairs. Shit, maybe I should've just pulled the fire alarm and gone out with the general rush.

It wasn't too late. Maybe I still could.

But then, just as I was shifting around, preliminary to pushing back the chair and getting out from under Tracey's desk, I heard a door open and close at the far end of the corridor. Ms Harcourt's voice echoed all the way down to where I was, clearly audible: "Ms Hebert!"

There was no mistaking the Tone of Doom. She absolutely knew. I froze where I was, listening intently with my eyes tight shut.

Down the corridor her footsteps came, moving in an almost military cadence.

I held perfectly still, barely even breathing.

She got up to where Tracey's office was, and her footsteps paused.

My heart rate faltered at the same time.

Then she marched on, and I breathed again.

I heard the restroom door open, and she called out my name again, but I wasn't listening. If she did what I thought she was going to do, then I had a tiny window to improve my chances of escaping. I listened so hard, I could almost feel my ears growing another quarter inch.

From inside the restroom, I heard a stall door being pushed open, then let swing back to bang against the stop. I acted as fast as I could. Pushing back the chair, I scrambled out from under the desk, bringing my backpack with me. I dashed to the corridor, briefly checked that there was nobody watching, then grabbed one of my shoes out of my bag and skidded it down the corridor in the direction of the elevators. Then I grabbed the T-handle of the fire alarm and gave it a good yank.

When Ms Harcourt had set the fire during our induction process, there had been no fire alarms going off. Greg and I had likewise not been at Medhall long enough to go through an actual fire drill. So I wasn't prepared for the absolute cacophony that erupted when I pulled the fire alarm. Sirens went off with a steady whoop-whoop-whoop, red lights that had always sat quiescent now flashed balefully, and an automated voice began reciting a message about remaining calm and moving to the nearest exit.

Fortunately, I had just enough presence of mind to dive behind Tracey's desk before Ms Harcourt erupted from the restroom. With one eye around the corner of the desk, I saw her storm past, her eyes fixed on something ahead. Hopefully, she'd fall for the ruse and decide I'd gone thataway while her back was turned.

As people began to stream past, I debated joining the rush, but quickly discarded the idea. They would be watching for me, and it wouldn't take much effort to pluck me out of the crowd. My original idea was just going to have to do.

I just hoped Greg got here before they backtracked and found me anyway. Because I was damn sure they weren't going to stop looking.

<><>​

Kaiser

Max raised his head when the fire alarms started going off. It seemed to be an amazing coincidence, perfectly set up for someone in the building who was trying to get out. Taking up his phone, he hit Victor's number.

"I don't think it's a fire," Victor said immediately. "Wait, Harcourt's calling me."

"Let me know what she says." Max ended the call and got up from his desk. Hands clasped behind his back, he paced back and forth. It was the supreme irony, if he'd been into that sort of thing, for the Hebert girl to be the saviour of Medhall in one instance, then threaten to topple it in the next.

It seemed his assumption of it being a false fire alarm was well-founded, if Victor also believed the same thing. Could it be that she was using the general exodus to sneak out? It sounded the most likely scenario. Grabbing up his phone from his desk, he sent a general text to Bradley and Melody to watch two of the fire exits and to put two of the more loyal guards on the other two.

Then he made his way toward the fire stairs. While his staff could be excused as 'being elsewhere at the time', Max Anders had to be visible to talk to the emergency services when they showed up and explain that it was a prank by an irresponsible intern.

But in the meantime, the search would go on. They had to catch her. There was no other acceptable outcome.

<><>​

Victor

"—must have been hiding, then she ran for it after pulling the alarm," Ms Harcourt reported crisply. "I found her shoe, so I know which direction she was running in."

"Good, good." Alex looked around distractedly. He'd been standing outside the maintenance room since before the fire alarm went off, and there was still no sign of Veder or Laborn. "Let me know how you go."

He ended the call and tried the door to the maintenance room. It opened easily, to show a room empty of either the wayward intern or the security guard who was supposed to have been escorting him. He knew damn well there was no way Veder could have overpowered Laborn, not without taking a lot of damage in return.

Hitting Max's number, he waited for his boss's terse answer, then started talking. "Harcourt says Hebert was definitely the one who pulled the alarm and ran for it. I'm at the maintenance room where Veder said he needed to go, but he's not here, and neither is Laborn."

"Fuck. You think Laborn's in it with them?"

Victor grimaced. "I … can't really see it? Unless this is part of a really big sting of some sort? Don't forget, he actually got cut saving their stuff. That's really going above and beyond."

"Has anyone tried calling Laborn's phone? Or his radio? He is wearing a radio, right?"

"No, not yet." Peering into the maintenance room, he spotted a two-way radio of the same type the security guards used. "But I can do both, right now."

"Do it, and get back to me."

<><>​

Tracey Grimshaw

There were no speakers in or around the room Tracey was imprisoned in (wherever that was), but she heard the echoes of the echoes of the sirens going off. The sound was unmistakeable, and she sat up from where she'd been huddled miserably in the corner.

Oh, god, there's a fire.

What do I do?

Are they going to let me out?

What if they don't?

Her mistake, she'd long since decided, had been in not picking up the nuance of Ms Harcourt's question: "Have you told anyone else about this?" Like an idiot, she'd said no. The punch that floored her hadn't been particularly expert, but it was totally unexpected.

She'd gone to Ms Harcourt in the first place because there had been no mention of the woman in any of the information she'd gone through. Ms Harcourt herself was staunchly apolitical, espousing no particular views or even strong convictions, except for her loyalty to Medhall. The other thing Ms Harcourt had said to her, while they were struggling over the possession of her phone, was telling: "I'm not going to let you tear Medhall down."

So no, she strongly suspected that they weren't going to just let her out. The locked room she was in didn't appear particularly flammable—she'd broken a couple of nails trying to pry the door open, and the walls were extremely solid, even when she kicked them—but death from smoke inhalation was definitely a thing.

She'd once read that staying low was best for smoke, so she stretched out on the floor, trying to be careful with her injured arm. It had begun to knit, but they'd taken the cast off (she hadn't had a choice in the matter) shortly after being shoved into the room. She wasn't quite sure why; maybe they thought she could bash her way out with it?

Either way, she wasn't getting out of this room any time soon, but that wasn't even the worst bit.

The worst bit was that Taylor was still working for them. With the girl's irrepressible curiosity, she would sooner or later stumble on some other clue as to the company's maleficent origins.

Tracey knew that she wasn't likely to get out of this situation alive, but hopefully Taylor would be smarter than her, and take the evidence directly to the authorities.

Bring the bastards down, Taylor. Avenge me.

<><>​

Medhall Building Maintenance Spaces

Greg

"Laborn, are you there? Come in, Laborn. Report location."

Greg jumped as the voice suddenly emanated from Brian's radio. "Jeez!" he exclaimed. "Uh, you aren't going to answer that, are you?"

Brian frowned. "I don't actually recognise that voice. It's not Bradley, and it's not Joe. Whoever it is doesn't belong on the radio net. There's something weird going on here."

"So you believe me?" Greg felt an upswelling of hope. Holy shit, I actually got it right!

"Let's just say, I'm less inclined to disbelieve you." Brian pointed his flashlight along the passage they'd been going down, and brushed a hanging spiderweb out of the way. "Still this way?"

"Just along a little bit, then up a ladder. Taylor's two floors up."

Brian shook his head. "I will never understand how you keep it all straight in your head."

Greg chuckled hollowly. "It's only a bit more complicated than Donkey Kong. Gaming nerd for the win."

At that moment, Brian's phone rang. He swapped his flashlight to his left hand while he pulled the phone out, and looked at the number on the display. Again, he frowned.

"Who is it?" asked Greg, while the phone kept ringing.

"Not anybody I know." Brian abruptly declined the call. "Someone really wants to know where we are, and they're not Medhall security."

"Ferguson. It must be." Greg felt his heart rate increasing. This was real. It was really real.

"Someone, anyway. Maybe the same people who set off the fire alarm, to get all the witnesses out of the way." Brian accessed another number in his phone and held it to his ear.

"Who are you calling?"

Brian glared at the phone. "Well, I'm trying to call friends, but the call's not going through. They must be blocking it somehow." He gestured with the flashlight and stuffed the phone away. "Just along here, then up a ladder? I'm starting to think we need to get to Taylor now."

Greg followed behind Brian as he hustled along, but didn't voice his thoughts. Well, duh.

<><>​

Taylor

The last of the staff had poured along the corridor in the direction of the fire stairs, but I knew better than to move right away. They would be searching for me; when they didn't find me in the outgoing crowds, they'd come back up to where Ms Harcourt had thought I'd run to, and start going through the place with a fine tooth comb. Eventually they'd work back to where I actually was, and I would be found.

Unless Greg got to me first. I had to have faith that he would.

But until then, there was nothing to say I couldn't make it harder for them to find me. As it was, I knew I couldn't be seen by the security camera in the corridor unless I moved out from behind the desk, but if someone went back through the camera files, they would spot that I'd last been seen in that area, and direct people to that location. I'd be caught like a rat in a trap.

Which meant I'd have to be extra sneaky. Fortunately, Tracey once more came to the rescue.

While I'd been working with her, she'd occasionally had to go off and assist Ms Harcourt with meetings with the higher-ups. When prepping for one such meeting, she'd had me fetch a triple-A battery from the supply closet, because her laser pointer was starting to get a little weak. So I knew she had one; more to the point, I knew (from Dad talking about it) that shining a laser pointer into the lens of a security camera was a big no-no, because it caused them to turn away or shut down to avoid damage. Not because laser pointers could actually damage them, but because Tinkers were a thing, and so were hand-held lasers that could scorch plastic from twenty yards.

My immediate thought was that I could use it to mess with the security cameras so they'd never see me, but it didn't take me long to figure out the flaw in that plan. Wherever the cameras were acting up, that was where they would look for me. Which required a little deeper thought into my strategy.

Sliding open the appropriate drawer without getting up from behind the desk wasn't the easiest thing in the world, but I managed it. Then I had the fun job of sorting through the desk's contents by touch alone, while keeping an ear out for approaching footsteps.

It took three false identifications, and far too long, before my fingers closed around the pointer. Time, already of the essence, was now downright vital. I scrambled out from under the desk, backpack over one shoulder.

Ducking out into the corridor, I pointed the laser at the camera and prayed that Dad hadn't been exaggerating. After a few seconds of dosing it with the beam, I ran down the corridor to the next camera and did the same, then the next one after that as well. Then I ran back the other way, my bare feet slapping against the vinyl flooring in a way that felt truly weird, and hit the next two cameras in that direction.

That would give them a whole bunch of places to search, not just the office space I'd been hiding in. Anything that slowed them down was just fine with me. But I still had to hide; simply standing out in the open did me no good at all.

I went into the kitchenette and yanked the fridge door open. My initial plan had been to empty out the contents and hide them (somewhere), then squeeze into the space thus vacated. But then I heard distant footsteps coming. There were too many shelves in there to pull out and hide without making it obvious where I was, so I took the next best option.

Reaching back, I flicked off the light switch, then opened my backpack and hauled out my hoodie and jeans. I'd never gotten into a compromising position with Greg where I might need to get my clothing back on in a hurry (he was too much of a gentleman for that) but I could've broken records with how fast I got my jeans and hoodie on this time.

There was just enough room in the fridge to shove my backpack onto one of the shelves, then I closed it and scrambled up onto the bench. As the footsteps came closer, I climbed on top of the fridge itself, pressing back into the niche it occupied. The ceiling was maybe two feet above the top of the fridge so I was more or less in a foetal position, but if they didn't give the kitchenette area more than a cursory glance, I might escape notice, at least for a little while. At least, that was the plan.

"Fucking laser pointers," I heard Bradley growl. "I'll give Taylor that much, she's inventive as fuck."

"Sounds like you actually admire her." That was a guy's voice that I didn't know. "That's not like you."

"Well, she has done a lot for this company." I recognised Mr Grayson's voice. "So how about we don't go lethal straight away? She deserves the chance to see the light."

"She knows what she's seen." Ms Harcourt's tone was as uncompromising as ever. "The fact that she's trying to escape tells us everything we need to know."

"All she knows is that when Tracey took it to you, you beat her up," Mr Grayson reminded her. By now, it sounded like they were standing almost directly outside the kitchenette, and I was barely breathing. "That's bound to give anyone a prejudiced point of view. And look at yourself. You didn't need any persuading at all."

"She hasn't put the years into this company that I have," Ms Harcourt retorted. "I don't care about your politics or your ideology. I care about Medhall. And I have it on good authority that she hates and despises white supremacy. So your chances of legitimately bringing her around are slim to zero. Whereas if she pretends to come around, then starts working against you …" She let the statement trail off.

"We're wasting time." That was Bradley. "Everyone, spread out, check all the offices and other rooms where she coulda hidden. And keep an eye out for Veder and Laborn. They're loose in the building somewhere too."

"It never fails." It was the same stranger's voice. "Once you bring one of them on board, everything goes to hell."

"What, interns or blacks?" asked Mr Grayson in a joking tone. "Come on, Lars, let's look down this way. Melody, you check the restrooms."

"Because I'm a chick?" I'd wondered why Melody didn't talk much. Belying her name, her voice had a fifty-packs-a-day rasp.

"No," snapped Bradley. "Because you're the lightest of us and if she's done something tricky like hide in the ceiling panels, you're the only one who can get up there."

I had actually considered hiding in the drop ceiling, but now I was glad I hadn't. Besides, I was fairly sure I just wasn't athletic enough to get up there.

Out of the corner of my eye—I wasn't moving any part of my body that I didn't have to—I saw Melody and Bradley moving off down the corridor. Ms Harcourt leaned into the kitchenette and gave it a cursory glance, then sniffed dismissively and went out of sight again. I tried to relax the full-body clench I'd just gone into, and blessed the impulse I'd had to turn the light off. Combined with my lack of movement and the darker clothing, the shadow in the niche had given me just enough concealment that she hadn't spotted me.

Over the crashing and banging of her searching Tracey's office—there were cupboards and cabinets that could theoretically have contained me, if I'd also been a professional contortionist—I heard the most welcome noise in the world; that of a door lock carefully opening. "Greg?" I whispered. "Be careful. Ms Harcourt's right there."

Thankfully, he was totally on the ball. "Taylor?" His whisper was no louder than mine. "What's going on?"

At that moment, I had an epiphany. I knew what Tracey's text to Greg had been, before autocorrupt had had its way with her message. She'd been trying to say, 'MH is E88', but the spaces hadn't come through. "Medhall is Empire Eighty-Eight," I whispered as I tried to climb down off the fridge.

"What?" That was Greg, apparently trying to process my words.

"What?" And that was a deeper voice, one I knew, but hadn't expected. What's Brian doing here?

Right then, I slipped; I caught myself before I fell all the way, but my feet hit the floor with an audible thud. "I'll tell you later," I hissed as I yanked the fridge door open to retrieve my backpack. "We have to get out of here."

"You're going nowhere," Ms Harcourt proclaimed as she stormed across the corridor, her eyes alight with righteous rage. "You have no idea how much trouble you've caused—"

As she came at me, she swung a punch. I hadn't been specifically taught how to deal with punches yet, but the little training I'd had let me slip it aside all the same. As part of the same move, I grabbed her arm, braced myself, and heaved. She wasn't light, but her momentum did all the work; over she went, to land on her back in the middle of the kitchenette. For a few seconds, I stood there, staring, unable to believe what I'd done.

I'd just thrown Ms Harcourt.

I'd just thrown Ms Harcourt.

The current situation notwithstanding, it was like I'd just toppled the Forsberg Gallery or punched out Alexandria; utterly unbelievable.

"Taylor!" Greg opened the maintenance door all the way and grabbed my arm. "Get in here!"

That snapped me out of the state of shock, and I followed him back into the maintenance space. As he pulled the door shut, I stared at the third member of our little party. "Brian? What are you doing here?"

"Tell you later," Greg said, facing up to me. "Who else is out there?"

I took a deep breath. Bradley, Melody, Mr Grayson, some other guy … "Hookwolf, Cricket, Victor, and someone called Lars."

"They're here!" I heard Ms Harcourt bellow from outside the maintenance door. "They're in the walls!"

I'd never actually seen a black guy go pale before. "We have to go," Brian urged. "Greg, which way?"

"Follow me!" Grabbing Brian's flashlight on the way past, Greg hurried off down the dark, web-strewn passageway.

I followed along; as claustrophobic and musty as it was—generations of rats and bugs must have died in those passages—it was still preferable to what was outside.

<><>​

Hookwolf

"They're here! They're in the walls!"

Brad looked around at the Harcourt woman's shout, frowning. What, really? Coming out of the office he'd been searching, he ran back down the corridor. Cricket popped out of the restrooms as he came past, and fell into step with him. As they came up to the kitchenette area, he saw Victor and Stormtiger coming the other way.

"What the fuck?" demanded Stormtiger. "What do you mean, 'they're in the walls'?"

"I mean, they went into that door there!" Harcourt snapped, climbing painfully to her feet. "The girl was right here, in this kitchen area, and you all missed her. I heard her talking to her confederates and went to apprehend her, but she threw me to the ground and got away!"

It was a serious situation, but Brad couldn't help catching Cricket's eye. They both snickered out loud as Brad clenched his fist and grew a whole lot of blades from it. Holy shit, the kid actually learned something! Drawing back his fist, he smashed it into the small door, ripping out the section around the lock. Without anything to hold it closed, it swung inward.

He was still chuckling at the mental image of Taylor pulling off a shoulder throw against Harcourt as he headed into the passageway. On another level altogether, he was wondering what had to be done about her 'confederates'. These had to be Veder and Laborn, unless there were two other people wandering around inside the building that he didn't know about. Were they in it with her, or just going along for the ride?

It wouldn't matter in the long run, Brad knew. Max was very much a fan of zero loose ends. It was how Medhall had survived for so long. He'd hunt these three down, then persuade Grimshaw to talk about who she'd sent her message to, and then they'd be able to deal with it once and for all.

It was a pity about Hebert; she was sharp as a tack, and a nice kid on top of that. But Medhall came first.

He hustled along the passageway until he realised the only light was coming in from behind him, so he pulled out his phone and activated the light on it. Moving on, he quickly came to the first junction; there was a ladder and a passage heading off at right angles. He paused and listened intently, but all he could hear were his idiot teammates bumbling up behind him.

"Will you assholes keep the noise down?" he demanded. "I'm trying to figure out which way they went!"

Stormtiger pushed forward past Cricket, ignoring her poisonous glare, and sniffed. Brad felt the air shifting around him. "Up that way," the aerokinetic said, pointing at the ladder.

"Why would they go up?" asked Victor. "Surely they'd want to go down."

"The smell of shit-scared teenagers goes up the damn ladder," Stormtiger stated flatly.

"Okay, you're the bird dog." Hookwolf passed the phone over to him. "Lead the way."

"Fuck you." But Stormtiger started climbing the ladder anyway. "When I catch that asshole Laborn," he muttered, "I am gonna rip his fuckin' guts out."

Not if I get to him first.

<><>​

Taylor

"Can we stop a minute? My feet are killing me." I hated to ask, but the rough metal of the ladder rungs and the equally rough concrete of the passageways made me feel like I was dancing on broken glass.

Greg stopped, of course, and aimed the flashlight down at my feet. "You're barefoot. Why are you barefoot?"

"Took my shoes off to move quietly," I said. "Lend me a shoulder?"

"Anytime." He moved up next to me and I gratefully leaned on him while I reached into my backpack for my sneakers. I didn't think we had time for socks, but I could definitely deal with that better than bare feet.

"Thanks," I said as I tugged on the first sneaker, then changed feet. "You guys were a lifesaver, showing up when you did."

"Yeah, well—" Greg began, before Brian grabbed the flashlight and turned it off with a 'Shh!'.

I stopped moving and held my breath to listen. After a few seconds, my eyes adjusted enough to detect a flickering light down the passageway we'd just come along, getting stronger. Also, I was pretty sure I could hear voices. My eyes opened wide in the darkness, and I jammed the shoe on my foot.

"Go!" hissed Brian.

"Going!" Greg agreed, and we hurried off.

It wasn't quite a labyrinth, but there were occasional branchings. We kept moving, going up and down ladders and around corners at a speed that soon had me panting for breath. At one point, Greg let us out into a ladies' restroom, then took us out into the corridor—I spiked the security cameras that I could see—and around the corner to another maintenance door. After going down two floors from that, we stopped to rest.

I was covered in sweat, not least from the fact that I was wearing two layers of clothing, but also because of the constant exertion. My breath was hurting in my lungs, and my heart rate was somewhere up around 'hummingbird'.

"Taylor, you okay?" Greg was in better shape, but that was probably because he'd been doing this sort of thing on a daily basis. Brian didn't seem to be sweating at all, the big cheat.

"Yeah … yeah …" I gasped. "Just … need to … catch my … breath."

And then we heard it. The sound of a maintenance door opening, two floors above. I even picked out Bradley's voice, but not what he was saying.

"How can they keep following us?" I whimpered, staggering to my feet. "How do they know where we are?"

"I think I know," Brian said grimly. "The one you don't know, Lars, he must be Stormtiger. A friend of mine once told me he can follow a scent by concentrating the air into his sinuses."

We kept moving. Greg led the way, being the only one at all familiar with the hidden spaces of the building, and Brian did his best to help me along. But the noise behind, and the flashing light, got closer and closer.

And then Greg left us to race up ahead. Brian was almost carrying me by now, although I was staggering along with zero gas in the tank. "Sorry," I whispered. "For getting you into this."

"Not your fault," he replied. "I made my choices."

As we got closer, I heard Greg open a maintenance door. I wanted to protest that ducking out through the corridors didn't actually gain us any distance, and probably let them catch up with us. But then he came back through the door and pulled it shut behind him. "Keep going," he urged, handing Brian the flashlight. "We need to be out of sight."

Brian didn't query him, though I was worried. Surely he wasn't going to try to hold them off on his own? Even Brian couldn't do that, and I'd seen him fight.

Greg fell in behind us, and I heard the ssst ssst ssst ssst from a spray bottle. An acrid tang stung my nose, and I stifled a sneeze. Brian picked me up and carried me, jogging onward, attempting to outrace the rolling cloud of vapour that Greg was generating. Even in the middle of it, he was still adding to it, spraying two bottles at once for all he was worth.

Then I heard the bottles clatter to the floor and he caught up with us. In a flash of light, I saw his eyes were red and streaming. "Ladder," he wheezed. "Down."

I could climb down a ladder; it was about all I could climb, right then. Brian went down first, then I half-climbed, half-fell down. He caught me at the bottom. Greg came down without using the rungs, hands and feet on the outside of the ladder. I felt jealous that he could pull off a cool move like that.

We staggered around a corner, then Greg waved for the flashlight to be turned off and we collapsed on the floor. Greg and I were both trying to die quietly, while Brian was just muffling his coughs. I was still terrified that they'd hear us from an entire floor away, right up until I heard the hacking, choking coughs that emanated from above.

"Fuck!" That was Bradley … Hookwolf. "His fuckin' sinuses are bleeding! What the fuck?"

"Veder sprayed cleaning products in the air," Mr Grayson (Victor, my brain insisted) said. "Somehow he knew how Lars' power works."

Someone—hopefully Stormtiger—let out another barrage of racking coughs. It honestly sounded like he was doing his best to part company with both lungs at once. We could live in hope.

"Yeah, you're right." Hookwolf managed to sound pissed and admiring all at once. "It's definitely something she'd do."

"So what do we do?" asked Victor. "We can't just leave him here. He might actually die."

"No, that's true." Hookwolf seemed to come to a decision. "Get him to Othala. We'll keep looking. Tell Max to send everyone home. Seal the building. Put out the word that a couple of interns and a security guard pulled the alarm and vandalised the place."

"Copy that." I heard the maintenance door open. "Come on, Lars. Let's get you out of here."

"We have to keep moving," Brian murmured. "They might catch up with us by accident."

I clenched my teeth to avoid groaning as I got to my feet yet again. Even with that brief respite, I felt as though my leg muscles had congealed into solid concrete. But I knew he was right. Just Hookwolf on his own could murder all of us.

"Can we just call the cops?" I asked in a whisper. "Even if they arrest us, we'll be alive."

Greg shook his head. "Brian tried calling someone. The call was blocked."

"Even if we got through, the Empire's got people in the BBPD," Brian said. "And the PRT. But the PRT wouldn't touch this anyway."

"Yeah," I said. "Because we're not capes. Damn it."

"We've got to lie low until we can get our strength back," Brian advised. "Not in the public spaces. Security will be sweeping those areas. And somewhere Stormtiger can't track us to, once he gets his sinuses back. Any ideas?"

Greg brightened. "I think I might know a place."

<><>​

Kaiser

"What the fuck is going on in there?" demanded Max, though he had to keep his voice to a calm tone. It was important to maintain the unflappable reputation. "How is it that you can't capture one overly inquisitive intern in our own goddamn building?"

"Two, plus Laborn," Victor reported, his voice exhibiting the warbling overtone of a Medhall phone. "They're extremely resourceful. Veder knows his way around the interior spaces, and he's already incapacitated Lars."

"How the fuck—no, save it, I don't want to know." Max shook his head. "Just make sure they can't get out, and I'll keep the Faraday cage running on the building, and make sure the reporters go away happy."

"You do that."

The phone call ended. Max growled in his throat as he put the phone away, then pasted a smile on his face as he went to speak to the reporters who had shown up.

The Empire Eighty-Eight would win. It was just a matter of time.

<><>​

Greg

Taylor peered down the long ladder. "I'm not sure I can climb down that. How far down does it go?"

"Not sure." Greg grimaced. He hadn't factored in Taylor's exhaustion. "Never been to the bottom. I found it one day, but nobody's ever talked about it."

"I can carry you down," offered Brian. "It'll be uncomfortable, but …"

"I guess?" Taylor looked at Greg. "What's this ladder for, anyway?"

"Oh, there's an elevator shaft just on the other side of that wall." Greg gestured at a maintenance door set in the wall. "We need access that doesn't actually involve climbing down the shaft itself. So, a ladder."

Brian sighed. "Well, there's only one way to do this. Taylor, do you feel up to hanging on to my back?"

Taylor didn't look too certain, but she nodded. "Going to have to, aren't I?" Then she paused. "Just a second. Turn your backs, guys."

Greg immediately averted his gaze, and saw that Brian had too. Behind them, they heard the rustling of cloth.

"Okay, you can turn around now."

When he looked, Greg saw that Taylor had removed her hoodie and jeans, and was stuffing them into her backpack. Her office clothing was sadly creased, but it had to be lighter than what she'd been wearing before.

Brian nodded approvingly. "Okay, yeah, that's better. You must've been boiling in that."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, you have no idea. Let's do this thing."

The climb down into darkness felt interminable. Greg went first, and paused every dozen rungs to shine the flashlight downward, but there was always more ladder. He began to wonder just how many floors the Medhall building had. Surely it wasn't this tall.

Eventually, they reached the bottom of the ladder shaft. There were two maintenance doors leading out; one into the elevator shaft that he already knew about, and one that he had no idea of. He was just peering at the second one when Brian arrived at the bottom, and let Taylor down onto her feet.

"Jesus," she muttered, shaking her hands out. "Now I know what they mean by 'hanging on for dear life'."

"What's through there?" asked Brian pragmatically, pointing at the second maintenance door.

"No clue." Greg glanced at the other two, and turned the handle. It opened, and he pushed it out a little way. Light spilled in; outside was a basic concrete corridor.

There were no shouts of alarm, so he cautiously stepped out, blinking in the glare of fluorescent lighting. Taylor and then Brian followed him out, peering around. The walls were industrial off-yellow, and the floor was raw concrete.

"What is this place?" asked Taylor, her voice hushed.

"I have no fucking idea." Brian shook his head. "And I've been given the full tour, from Max Anders' office all the way to the basement storage. Greg?"

Greg shook his head. "Don't look at me. I've never seen this place before either. And I thought I knew the building."

Taylor drew a deep breath. "Well, we either stand here and wait for them to find us, or we go and see if we can find something useful. Like an exit. Right?"

Greg glanced at Brian, and they traded shrugs. "Makes sense," Greg allowed.

"Totally," agreed Brian.

They moved off, Brian in the lead by mutual agreement. Taylor was still unsteady on her feet, but she was moving better now.

"Hey," a voice said from just around the next corner, "did you hear something?"

"Yeah, I did," said someone else. "Back me up while I check it out."

There was absolutely zero cover in the corridor, and Greg knew damn well Taylor couldn't run. It appeared Brian knew that too, because he was running forward, toward the corner. It was amazing how quietly someone his size could move when he had to.

The first thing they saw around the corner was a rifle barrel, and then a face. The eyes widened, just as Brian reached out and grabbed the guy. There was just enough time for the guy to yell in surprise, and for the rifle to go off, before Brian headbutted him savagely.

Greg had no idea where the bullet went to, but the rifle's report was loud enough to deafen him. And then the other guard appeared, pointing his rifle at them. He was far enough back that Brian couldn't just grab him, and he seemed to be yelling something into a radio.

And that was when Brian put out his hands and blackness poured from them, enveloping the second guard in a heartbeat. Intuiting what was going to happen next, Greg pulled Taylor to the ground, covering her with his body. There was a muffled shot, but it didn't seem to come near either one of them. A moment later, the blackness started dissipating, revealing Brian standing over the recumbent body of the second guard.

"What the hell?" asked Greg, rolling off Taylor and getting to his feet. "You're … a cape?"

"Well, duh, he's a cape," Taylor snarked as she used the wall to help herself get up. "What I want to know is, what are these two jerks stuck down here guarding with rifles while all hell's breaking out upstairs?"

Greg immediately knew what she was doing. Yes, Brian being a cape had to be addressed at some point. He even had a suspicion of who Brian really was. But right now it wasn't important.

Between them, Brian and Greg secured the guards, then checked them for keys. One of the guys had one that didn't seem to be the usual house key/car key setup. There was only one door along that part of the corridor, and Taylor went to it.

Inserting the key, she turned the lock and opened the door. Then she stared into the room, her jaw dropping.

"Tracey?"

Part 20