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As he heard Claire in the communications room trying to rouse Droste - the captain was badly injured from the sounds of it - Ellissen continued to move down the hallway, stopping at every other window to lift the chair in his hands and smash it through the glass, letting in the blessedly fresh air and the cool sea breezes.
The gas was dissipating but his lungs still burned from the exposure he had experienced even through the filter of his scarf, and the men that lay collapsed onto the floor and scattered throughout the hallway didn't stir.
If he hadn't been checking their pulses, Ellissen would have assumed they were dead, with how still they lay.
As Ellissen came up to yet another window and raised the chair in preparation to smash through it, something crunched in the broken glass littering the floor behind him.
What could..?
"Freeze." Something - a gun, most likely, his slowly responding brain informed him - pressed into the small of his back as a voice spoke from behind him.
Ellissen froze.
He had almost forgotten that the screams and gunshots that had been heard over the radio had been the very thing that brought on their frantic flight halfway across the Atlantic Ocean to F.P.1 in the first place, that there had to be someone behind the releasing of the gas and the injuring of Droste.
If Ellissen was a betting man, he would put everything on the man currently behind him being the saboteur who has been on the other side of Droste in that horrible firefight Claire had overheard on the radio, the man who had gassed all these sailors.
"Drop the chair," the voice commanded, "and put your hands in the air."
Ellissen didn't have any other option, so he followed the man's instructions.
The chair fell to the floor, clattering loudly - although none of the men lying prone on the floor of the hallway stirred - and his hands rose above his head.
"You don't have to do this," Ellissen spoke, his eyes trained straight ahead as he listened for any movement behind him. "I assume you've already gotten whatever you've done this for. Just walk away, nobody has to die."
"Oh, it's too late to just walk away." The man behind him hissed, "I wasn't expecting anyone to reach the island so quickly, but don't worry. You're going to help me get out of here."
Before Ellissen could ask how in the absolute hell this man expected the pilot to help him, a hand grabbed ahold of the collar of his flight suit and pulled, causing him to stumble backward before he could catch his footing.
"You're going to go where I lead. Any suspicious movements, I will shoot you."
Ellissen didn't respond verbally, but he nodded.
Inwardly, he thought about Claire. He hadn't heard her since before this man caught him, he hoped it was due to Droste waking up. Because Ellissen could sure use the support.
He could only hope that this saboteur wouldn't go to the communications room, that he would allow Claire to remain undetected - and safe.
"We're going to the communications room."
Well, shit.
Ellissen hesitated. He couldn't exactly not go to the communications room, not if he didn't want to end up dead in a pool of his own blood, but to lead this man straight to Claire...
"Do you want to get shot?!" The man behind him cried, the gun threateningly pressing harder into his back, "get moving!"
Ellissen began to walk, the man close behind him with the gun remaining against the pilot's back and the fist still keeping a tight grip on his collar.
As he stepped over the form of one of the poor soldiers lying in the middle of the hallway, Ellissen noticed the man's fingers twitch slightly.
Good. They were recovering from the gas.
It might not be in time to save Ellissen's life, but at least the gas wasn't potent enough to leave the men unconscious and helpless for too long.
Before long, the pair was exiting the hallway and stepping into the communications room.
The room looked like - well frankly, it looked like a firefight had occurred in it. Equipment was scattered across the floor, knocked over and smashed, and bullet holes littered the walls and furniture.
And in the center of it all was Claire and Droste, the former crouched over the captain's form, who was sat up and leaning against the leg of a table, his eyes closed as the woman attended to his wounds.
"Ellissen, good," Claire didn't look up as Ellissen's footsteps announced his presence - the man behind him matching them -, focused on her examination of a wound sluggishly bleeding on his temple. "Did you find the doctor, is he awake? Droste really needs attention-"
"Ellissen!" Well, Droste was certainly awake, and he had opened his eyes and just glanced over Claire's shoulder as she had tilted his head to get a better look at his wound. His eyes widened and his previously lax form tensed as he looked at the man behind Ellissen. Claire whipped around at his cry, and her eyes widened at the sight of the pilot, his hands still in the air and a grimace upon his face as the saboteur stood behind him.
As Claire fell back in shock, Ellissen got a glimpse of the damage done to Droste. Blood stained the man's uniform, visible even with the dark fabric, undoubtedly a result of the firefight that was heard over the radio earlier. The man was alive and awake, yes, but in fighting shape, he was not.
It was looking more and more likely that Ellissen would have to get himself out of this situation - or die trying.
"Damsky," Droste began, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the man behind Ellissen.
Damsky. Must be his name, perhaps he had been one of the many workers stationed upon F.P.1.
"Damsky, let him go." Droste coughed wetly as he spoke, "You already have what you want. The island will be underwater by tomorrow, we won't be able to stop it. You can escape, take one of the boats, just don't kill him."
F.P.1 would be underwater? Just what exactly had this Damsky done?
"Let him go," Claire spoke up from her spot beside Droste - Ellissen admired her bravery, but silently cursed her for drawing Damsky's attention, "and we won't go after you. Not like we could, really."
"Do you think I'm a fool? Who knows if it's just you two who've come," Damsky hissed from behind Ellissen. If only it wasn't just the two of them, maybe they wouldn't have ended up in this mess to begin with, "There could be any amount of soldiers awake and ready to fight on this island, so I think I'll guarantee my freedom if you don't mind. This man," Damsky's words were accentuated by the hand at his collar shaking him slightly, "is going to come with me. I am going to get into a boat, and leave." The gun remained pressed into his back, an ever-present reminder of how little it would take to end his life, "If any of you make a move, he dies."
Ellissen watched Claire and Droste, helpless to do much else. Droste was staring at Damsky - hatred and frustration clear in his burning gaze -, but Claire was watching Ellissen, concern evident in her eyes.
"You're going to stay here," the man spoke, most likely in reference to Claire and Droste, "if I see a single shadow that might be you two following me? He gets a bullet in his skull."
This wasn't looking good.
"Now come on," the fist at his collar yanked him back, hard enough that he almost tumbled to the floor, "I've got a boat to catch."
Ellissen let himself be led outside, down the stairs and onto the runway, the duo quickly passing the plane Ellissen had piloted onto the runway only maybe half an hour ago, heading towards the entrance of the stairways that would lead them down to the depths of the station.
In any other set of circumstances, Ellissen would have been marveling at his surroundings, the pilot would have been in awe of the masterpiece that was the floating city Droste had created out here in the middle of the ocean. But no, he had to experience it with a gun against his back and a man rushing him down through the levels of the island, their footsteps loudly echoing through the empty halls as they went down stairway after stairway.
Soon enough they reached sea level and emerged out onto the docks, the scent of the ocean strong as the ocean waves crashed against the base of the floating station.
There was a boat that looked already prepared, closest to the beginning of the dock with boxes of food items and tubs of water haphazardly thrown in.
No doubt it was Damsky's escape boat.
As they came up to it, Ellissen prayed Damsky wouldn't instruct him to get into the vessel. There would be no escape for him if Damsky decided to keep him hostage, to take him god knows where. As Damsky pulled the gun back from Ellissen and moved past him to step down into the boat - although he still kept the gun trained on the pilot -, he said nothing, and Ellissen remained on the dock. He still kept his arms raised and didn't move, not wanting to risk it, but it seemed like the man didn't expect Ellissen to get into the boat with him.
If he played his cards right, perhaps he would escape this unscathed.
"You've got your boat, and there's nobody to follow you," Ellissen spoke as the man started the boat, the waters beginning to churn as the propellors started up, "you've won. Will you let me return to the others?"
Please, just let me go.
"Did you really think I was just going to let you go?" Damsky chuckled.
Ellissen felt his heart turn to ice.
"You see, there's more than one boat here. Droste - I have no doubt they're following us out of sight -, could easily hop in one, injured as he is, and chase me down." Ellissen could barely hear the man over his panic, his brain frantically searching for something - anything - that could get him out of this alive, "So," Damsky continued, "I think I'll give them something to keep their attention."
There was nothing.
Ellissen didn't think he was getting out of this.
Was this how he would die? Alone, bleeding out on the docks of the F.P.1 as the saboteur sailed away?
"Thanks for your help, Ellissen, was it?" Ellissen could hear the smug smirk in Damsky's voice, "You were so helpful in my escape, but this is goodbye."
With that, Damsky raised the gun to point directly at Ellissen's heart.
Ellissen threw himself to the side, hoping against all odds he could dodge the deadly bullet that was soaring towards him.
Bang
It wasn't enough.
White-hot, searing, and agonizing pain shot through Ellissen's body.
He was hit.
The sounds of the world, of the boat roaring off, of Droste and Emily's cries - Damsky was right, they were following them - and the echoing of their footsteps upon the metal of the dock as they raced up to him, all the sounds became droned out by the ringing in his ears.
Pain became all he knew, a firey burn in his chest as he writhed and gasped for air.
Hands suddenly pressed against his chest - it made the pain worse, he thought he might have screamed but he couldn't hear it if he did - Claire and Droste dropping down on either side of him. Concern was written across their faces as they took in the damage Damsky had done.
Ellissen knew it was bad. A pool of blood had already formed beneath him, spreading far enough to drip over the edge of the dock, falling down into the turbulent ocean waters.
Droste was shaking his shoulder, trying to keep him awake. The captain's own wounds were still leaking blood, his free hand rising to wipe the red liquid from where it was dripping into his eye, but he didn't seem to notice. The desperation on his face, a stark contrast to his normally controlled military bearing, was a chilling note to how badly Ellissen was injured.
Claire's beauty - would she be the last thing he saw, he wondered - was overshadowed by the panic displayed across her face, her lips frantically mouthing words that he couldn't hear and didn't have the attention to decipher by eye, as his eyes fluttered shut despite his attempts to keep them open.
He didn't want to go.
Would this be his legacy? The first man to land on F.P.1 - and the first to die?
Darkness overtook him, like a flood of water, and swept his consciousness away.
Ellissen was gone.