Chapter Text
Water trains down his legs, managing to slip between the folds of his normally-baggy, but now tight and clinging to his skin, trousers. Tommy turns a corner and shuffles along the new corridor; watching as the grey walls migrate to a white tile floor, he pays no mind to the wet shoe prints left on the floor tiles or the squelches echoing from his feet. His wings drag behind him, muscles aching as the appendages fall to either side of his legs. White feathers tipped with brown are just as wet as his clothes, despite their double layering. Someone decided it was a good idea to continue his training session even as he slowly lost flight mobility.
The bruises beginning to form over his left arm and knees are attributed to his… less than ideal landing from forty feet in the air.
Each step is another squelch down the corridor, each minute shiver a reminder of the drill he just did. The all-weather training is supposed to be with all other avians in the facility, but apparently it was only going to be him today because of ‘scheduling’.
Luckily, Tommy has the benefit of private thoughts and Tommy thinks the people who run the facility are pricks. Pushy-faced people in lab coats who want to see him struggle for once and make him do it alone.
His wings flew out to their full span, almost three metres across. He stood on the ground, looking straight up. Small drones hovered in the air. Black. Cameras attached to each one. Small lenses, each angled at him.
His task: two minutes, incapacitate all drones.
He had thirty seconds left to scan his environment. Meanwhile, his watch released a beep every five seconds.
The open sky, or as open as it could be in the giant room, glowed. It was really a mish-mash of screens, white, fluffy clouds encompassed by blue pixels.
He still remembered when another avian flew head first into the ceiling, a moment of confusion that had Tommy cackling for weeks on end. Tommy had never seen the sky, but he always thought it wouldn’t have small glitches where the edge of a cloud should be. A real sky would be a softer blue, one that didn’t give him a headache if he looked at it too long.
Tommy counted twelve drones before looking away to rub his eyes.
Ahead of the starting panel, a forest of deciduous ‘trees’ stood around twenty feet tall. He’d have to be agile, watching out for his wings between the branches. Just as fake as the sky, there were no animals amongst the trees for Tommy to dodge, only hard wooden beams ready to break an arm or a wing.
The drones would be harder to track between the trees. He would be hunting those first.
A small beep; fifteen seconds.
His back tensed, ready to fly, until a voice over the intercom sparked to action.
“Theseus; test 3572. Cross-weather training part three. ‘Catch and avoid’ task.”
A small beep; ten seconds.
He stood tall, observing his surroundings for any changes. As expected, one final drone was released from a hatch, right over another cloud. If he’d missed it, the drone would’ve seemed to appear from thin air.
A smile crossed his lips. He never missed anything.
It looked different to the ones he was tasked to catch; instead of black, it was grey—harder to see.
A camera wasn’t mounted to this one. It had no eyes; it would rely on sound waves to find him. Tommy would not be letting that happen.
A small beep; five seconds.
He would stick to his original plan. The room began to dim and the clouds turned a dark grey. Unfortunately, all-weather meant having done drills in both desert and snow, Tommy would now have to face the wet. Thunder crackled from the speakers around the walls. Giving one last look to his pursuer, he locked eyes on the first drone he would target. Small black orbs flickered through the trees.
He filled his lungs fully for the last time, no thought in his head other than the task at hand. Ignoring the few droplets that started to pat his face, he crouched slightly, ready for takeoff.
A longer beep.
Wings spread and he took off towards the trees.
The buzz of a certain large drone was quick to follow, even as more rain poured down.
That shoe squelching is beginning to drive him up the wall. If he were a spider hybrid, maybe he’d be on the wall already.
He should’ve been spending the walk back to his warm, comfortable bed analysing the statistics on his watch. That is, however, futile, because as soon as the session ended he realised his watch was completely busted.
He looks down again at the square glass frame, or just the frame because it appears all the glass has been violently bashed out of it. The black strap is somehow intact, much to Tommy’s relief. He isn’t sure what he’d do without the comfortable weight on his wrist.
It’ll be fucking annoying not being able to track things like his heart rate, at least until he gets a new one. He can’t even check his point count.
Tommy is anxious to check the count, being only ten points ahead of second place. It means he has a lot of work to do if he wants to stay at the top. A spot he’s had since he started his training, too long ago for him to remember. Only once, in his whole forteen years of life, has he been this close to falling into second place. All because of a fucking broken hand a few weeks ago.
Phantom pain travels up Tommy’s arm, forcing him to stop.
Looking down at his hand, he stretches out the fingers and bites his lip through the shooting pain. Droplets run down his skin from the hair that clings to his face, reaching his chin and free-falling to the floor. The sensation forces a shiver out of him.
By the time Tommy looks up from his hand, a small puddle has formed where his sorry excuse for shoes and wings hang. A mini Tommy puddle.
“CODE AMBER. CODE AMBER.”
An alarm blares from speakers Tommy can’t see, noise echoing down the tiled corridor and nearly bursting his ear drums. His hands clap over his ears as he looks around for any indication of what could’ve set the alarm off.
That’s when he hears it.
Pat pat pat.
Of all the sounds attacking his ears, it’s the only one to make Tommy’s heart race. He finds himself looking to his watch but alas it’s fucking busted. Like he can feel the barrels point at him, the air around him shifts. He can remember their presence. Remember the weapons pointed at him. Remember the threats.
Pat pat pat.
Hands still cupped over his ears, Tommy tries to steady his breathing. Breathing he hadn’t realised was cutting short. He isn’t there. He is in an empty corridor and he has been trained for this situation.
Or, well, not this situation specifically but he is going to get his breathing under control before he confronts that fact.
Shitty body reacting to the only thing that will scare him till the day he dies.
Pat pat pat.
The continuous round of gunfire reverberates through the hall.
With his hands still firmly around his ears, Tommy starts jogging to the end of the corridor, desperate to find a worker that can tell him the protocol.
He’s never heard of a code amber.
He knows all the codes, all of them , yet no recognition of amber comes to mind.
It’s as he reaches the end of the corridor that he hears the gunfire become deafening.
The pit and pat of bullets gets louder and louder, taking everything in Tommy not to turn and run the other way. He may be absolutely terrified, but he has to know what’s going on. As long as he can see whatever code amber is before it sees him, it’ll be okay.
Then the lights go out.
This is not a good day for Tommy.
A yellow flicker replaces the normal white hospital lighting. Lights attached to the walls turn round and round with a singular yellow bulb. His ears ring and eyes slowly adjust to the new lighting. He watches as the yellow illuminates the rest of the hall ahead of him, warm light turning the tiles orange. They blink in and out, the intermittent darkness plunging him into depths of unknown.
It takes a moment for Tommy to realise the gunfire has stopped.
Then, he hears the screech. It’s louder and impossibly more earpiercing than the alarm. Tommy is on the floor before he knows what’s going on. He looks up from where he is crouched around himself, legs pulled tight to his chest and ears still firmly covered. Wet wings surround him in a small ball, a barrier from him and whatever thing made that sound.
Hiding behind his wings, Tommy takes a moment to hear his breathing. The world feels disconnected as sounds fade into one blurr, quieter than they were before. All he hears is the flap or far away wings and occasional steps of metal toed shoes. Then, the sounds all come flooding back to him. The alarm bombards his ears and forces its way to his consciousness. He shakes his head violently, forcing his wings to separate as he bolts up to standing.
He is up and sprinting the other way, away from his dorm and the creature, before he can understand what is happening. Soon enough he’s running past the small puddle on the floor from just minutes ago.
As he gets more than halfway, the gunfire starts again. This time from both ends of the corridor.
Tommy forces himself to ignore the repetitive “CODE AMBER” and instead the gunfire he knows is too close for comfort.
It echoes down the hall from either side, sound cascading down each entrance and making its crash point Tommy’s brain. Despite the lights flickering in and out, he’s certain neither group has made it to his hall. But they are close.
Close enough for him to hear as less and less people appear to be shooting.
Close enough, as he stops running, to hear the heavy-set footsteps of another creature in the direction he is running. Something else.
Close enough.
Too close.
Tommy turns. He’s out of escape routes. Either monster will come around the corner, spot him, and he’ll be a goner.
He’s trained in aerial assault. He’s an assassin of the skies. Tommy is not built for hand-to-hand combat, especially with the creatures that are awaiting him. Despite the sensory assaults on his brain, Tommy can estimate each one’s size. Tommy knows what they want. Not bullets. Not the workers. The hybrids.
Well, fuck them for thinking he would come easy. Tommy looks for anything he can use for a weapon, anything he can use to defend himself. To make it as difficult as he can for these bitches to capture him.
That’s when he spots it.
His only option.
A fucking air vent.
Just above his head height, Tommy can barely make out the grating and screws in the low-level lighting. Jogging to it, he reaches for the screws as best he can and pries them out of the wall.
He doesn’t need his watch to know his heart is still beating twice as fast as it needs to. It’s almost as loud as the gunfire. As each screw drops, Tommy zones back in on it.
The sounds of gunfire drop more and more, and it’s not because they’re getting further away. He could only hope.
He’s on the final screw, letting swears pass his lips as it refuses to be separated from the wall. Like an alley following an order, when the final screw drops onto the tile, Tommy hears something more unnerving than the simple bird screech—a roar, a monster, something ungodly calling out.
Tommy’s heart stops, only for it to start again when the grating over the vent comes fully loose and falls into his hands. He abandons the metal and checks his surroundings one more time.
The corridor still remains empty so he looks back to the new hole in the wall. Now he must address the elephant in the room.
No, not the blaring alarm, but yes that is beginning to give him a headache.
No, not the literal monsters that will decide his fate at either end of this stupid corridor.
Tommy looks up to the vent and regrets all his decisions up to this very moment.
He looks up to that very small, very enclosed space, a tunnel that might not end.
Yes, imagine the great Tommy, being claustrophobic. A master of aerial assault, wilderness survival, tracking and hunting, is scared of enclosed spaces.
Tommy looks back down the corridors, watching the darkness for any changes. The gunfire on both ends has stopped once again.
By all means, that should be a good thing, but somehow it feels too quiet. The alarm stops at that moment too, the flashing lights being the only indicator that anything is wrong. Each yellow glow fills the space and reflects off the scattered puddles. Silence fills the space, leaving Tommy to stand in the middle of his corridor. Waiting. Only his heart and breathing keeps him company. Water mimics sweat, gathering at his eyelid as he listens for any other signs of life.
Unfortunately, to his left he hears heavy footsteps. Careful and methodical as the monster makes its way towards him. From the other direction, the light tap of footsteps is equally pertinent. The creature sounding like it is bouncing down the corridor, perhaps jumping over fallen bodies.
So Tommy has a choice.
He takes on the big guy, having absolutely no clue what they look like or what hybrid they may be. He knows it would take strength, power to take on a beast bigger than him. A great mix of brave and stupid, Tommy would probably die a very quick death.
Or, he takes on the definite avian hybrid. An adult one, but at least if it is an avian, Tommy will have a better chance in that fight. He’s small and agile; he can do some damage in a fight for an escape even if he is wet. Yet, that's not guaranteed. Avians have some… mechanisms… for incapacitating younger versions of the hybridity. As much as Tommy hates to admit it, he would easily fall foul to the call of an older avian.
So, option one means death, option two means incapacitation and option three means a small space. Great. All equally terrible options.
In training when Tommy meets a decision like this he would normally laugh. Without any other noise to mask even the smallest giggle, he settles instead for a kind of manic smile.
He takes one more look at the open hall, where the lights are too dim for him to see either end, and hops up toward the vent. His fingers catch on the edge and he manages to haul himself up with his very manly muscles. Once his chest is securely inside, he wriggles forward in a very manly way until his entire torso is in the vent.
Tommy stops. Looking down the vent now that half his body has commited, he has had the realisation that certain death might be a better option. The compressing walls and low ceilings have his fight or flight nearly take over. Time for Tommy to be a big man, the assassin he was trained to be.
He’s taken on missions against literal hot and fiery lasers. Fought with a broken arm! Tackled a full grown piglin hybrid! (That one may be an accentuation of the truth but that is between him and his memories.) Heck, he is top of his field. Whatever field that may be, but he’s the top!
He can do this. Definitely got this in the bag. The biggest bag.
Taking one final huff, Tommy braces his arms underneath him and attempts to scooch back out of the vent. He moves back until he feels a sharp pinch on his wings, stopping immediately and nearly gasping in pain.
With his entire torso into the vent, his wings are tightly pressed against the metal roof. Wriggling back out isn’t an option anymore. His wings are tucked close enough to his back for any movements forward, but he can tell that any attempt to move backward would pull all his feathers back with it.
Great. Now he isn’t even allowed to opt for certain death.
Tommy looks forwards, down the vent.
It’s only a square, right? Shapes aren’t painful. Unless they are pointed and aimed at someone, he supposes, but this one can’t!
So, Tommy makes up his mind. Choosing not to back out of the vent, he continues forwards, feeling how the water still dripping from his clothes helps him slide along the metal surface.
Just as his feet disappear from view, two creatures turn their respective corners to see four screws, a single grate and multiple puddles across the floor.