Chapter Text
His life was a sci-fi horror. A shitty one. As if being strapped to a table wasn't bad enough, he'd been upgraded to floating in weird-ass machines filled with liquid, whilst long tubes pumped even more of god-knows-what-sort-of-chemicals-they're-even-using-this-time into him. He's long since stopped caring that he's been stripped down to literally nothing as he floats here, able to see and be seen by all of the scientists standing around with clipboards and getting data from the various gadgets they have wired up to him. Let them look, he thinks. They're probably impressed by what they see.
This is so Cliché it's actually painful. Or was that the chemicals? Hard to tell, really.
After what seems like forever, the liquid starts to drain off and he finds himself standing, swaying slightly as the front of the container is lifted off and the oxygen mask he'd been wearing is the first thing to be pulled off his face. He's more than a little groggy, and barely feels it when the tubes are pulled out of him, blood seeping down from all the incisions left in his chest and back, and he's presented with some dull cloths and told to get dressed before he gets taken back to his cell.
He's long since learned not to argue, and doesn't even snark about "What, not going to let me dry-off first?" because there is just no point. These people are utterly without humour, it seems. He simply pulls the cloths on before walking up to the guards and letting them grab his arms.
The men dragged him into the hall roughly. Gentle was a thing of the past. Everything in the lab was harsh. The hallway was dim and dreary, grey, and more or less identical to the rest of the building. They dragged him down the familiar path to his cell, just like all of the times before-and then they were plunged into darkness. One of the men cursed and let go of Dave's left arm, while the other starting fumbling with a communicator, cursing.
It takes less than a second for Dave to take the initiative. With his left arm free he slams his weight to the right, looking to crush the guard between himself and the wall. He's moving on instinct more than anything else, four months of captivity not enough to point out the years of strife he'd had with Bro on the roof, all the training, all the preparation he'd been given for a life he'd never thought he'd actually have to live.
The guard hits his head off of the wall and goes down like a pile of bricks. The other guard whirls around wildly, trying to figure out where Dave is and how to get a hand on him, but it's too dark and he only manages to trip over the first guard. There is some shouting, and then red emergency lights go on. It's only a matter of time before the alarm sounds with it to signify his escape.
Dave stomps down with his heel on the second guards head, able to see him because of the red light, then stoops and goes through their pockets. "Keys... keys... Where are your goddamn... Bingo." The ring of keys are smaller than he expected, and he only recognizes one that'll fit into the cell doors but... maybe it's a master key or some shit? Whatever. He takes off down the corridor toward the holding cells, with an aim to get out as many of the poor fuckers locked up with him as possible.
Heart pounding and adrenalin rushing through his veins, he skids to a halt in front of Feferi's cell first and jams the key into the lock...
...And it won't turn.
"...Dammit..."
Feferi shot upright and rushed to the front of her cell. She felt her heart leap when she saw Dave, free and working to save her as well...only to have her hopes dashed when the key wouldn't turn. And then the alarm went. "You need to go. Now."
"No, fuck that, I can't just leave you to these mad people, you're the one keeping me sane..." He tries a different key, but the others just will not even go in the lock. He looks up, desperate eyes locking onto hers. "...Feferi..."
"Dave. Go. It's okay." Never mind the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes and that fact that he's about to leave her all alone. She can already hear the footfalls of the guards rapidly approaching, and if he doesn't get his ass in gear, he'll be just as stuck as she is. And she doesn't want that. She reaches through the bars and takes his hand, almost wanting to pull him forward and kiss him, but no, he has someone waiting for him at home, so she settles for this. "You have to go. It's okay."
Striders don't cry, but fuck if he doesn't want to. "...I'll get help, I'll get you out of here. This isn't goodbye It's... a sea you soon." He gives her hand a squeeze, before turning and legging it in the opposite direction of the footfalls he can hear echoing down the hallways. Blood is staring to spread through his shirt from where the exertion is causing the slits on his chest and back to bleed but he doesn't care. He has only one thought in mind right now: Out.