Chapter Text
Bleeding, disoriented, yet fueled by pure determination, Alan peered through a line of the rotating, large rings.
He tried to avoid looking at himself in the reflection despite how much of a glaring distraction it was – as if it were staring daggers at him in ways not even his father had, despite how intimidating he can become at times. Alan could see how bad the wound was in his shoulder, drawing out a grimace out of him.
An electrifying sting coming from the wound would snap him back to reality, his eyes darting up to the floor above — Parker and Lady Penelope were nowhere in sight.
“Where are they..,” Alan muttered weakly to himself as fearful eyes scanned the room for threat, or a sign that this was just a bad dream.
What was supposed to be a trip on the Skyship One’s maiden flight turned out to be a hellhole of backstabbing and unwanted bloodshed. It didn’t feel like a bad dream, it felt like a nightmare-
“They should’ve been here by now.”
Alan ducked back down, clutching his wounded shoulder as his jaw clenched tight. The pain was unbearable and the urge to scream until his lungs tore themselves apart was reaching its peak. Captain Foster – if that’s what his name really was – seemed to have left the wounded pilot to bleed. For now.
No one knew why Captain Foster and his men had turned their backs on International Rescue, or what the plan exactly was. But there was no innocent plot in the deceiving man’s mind.
Blood-slicked fingers tightened around the grip of Alan’s gun as he slowly stood, scanning the area for any threats. The shadows danced tauntingly in the room, but he paid no mind as he struggled through the halls of the Skyship One.
“It can’t be much further.” Alan muttered as he picked up the pace. Maybe to also ground himself while he-
BANG
The thunderous crack of a bullet followed by startled shouts shattered the eerie silence, bringing Alan to a sudden halt. He faltered for a moment, almost tripping over himself at the sudden noise. That voice.. it- it belonged to.. A sense of urgency floods his mind.
The blond took one step, then another, before breaking into a full sprint, his footsteps pounding against the floor. The searing hot pain in his shoulder dulled beneath the rush of adrenaline as gunfire erupted again from what was emitting from the card-game-styled room.
Alan’s eyes were glued straight ahead as the thuds of his footfalls echoed with urgency.
“Scott, Virg. I really hope you’re on your way.”
As Alan made it to the room Lady Penelope, Tin-Tin and Parker had gathered moments before, a flicker of relief washed over him. The gunfire had stopped. Beyond the doorway, everything looked almost untouched by the violence. For a brief moment, it was as though the shots never happened at all – as if it were only a figment of his imagination.
With a shaky sigh, Alan raised his fist to knock on the door, panting and sweating slightly from the sudden run.
But just as Alan was about to knock, a sudden chill ran down his spine as an odd dampness seeped into his shoes, the fresh scent of something metallic becoming more prominent. Before the pilot could look down to confirm just what he hoped was not an icky, red liquid, a violent blow crashed into the back of his head, causing a pained yell to escape him. A hot, white light blared in his eyes as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.
Without warning, Alan was sent crashing to the floor with another agonised yelp as he was struck in the head again.
“You’ve seen too much.” The voice was muffled and distorted, but Alan knew it belonged to that of Captain Foster. The world spun as a cruel chuckle sounded from the imposter.
When Alan opened his eyes, he could feel the icky liquid from the floor slowly soak into his rumpled clothes. Vision may have been battered, but the familiar deep, red tinge to the sticky substance confirmed a frightening reality. He struggled, clawed at the floor desperately, trying to haul himself up and out of the pool of blood that had leaked from the closed door in front.
But it was all futile as his gasping, laboured breaths began to thin out. Alan’s vision blurred at the edges, making it difficult to differentiate up from down.
“M-May..” he trailed off for a moment, his breath laboured as he tried to hold onto his consciousness, “I- hngh- Maybe,” he forcefully started, “it’s just a really bad nightmare.” Alan muttered doubtfully to himself.
The last thing the wounded man remembered seeing through blurred vision was Foster, with one of his lackeys, opening the door and the familiar figures sprawled out in the room beyond, unmoving.