Summary: Abel shows just how easy of a prisoner Sarah has been.
Date: 21 December, 2013
Related: Tomb Raiders and Able Was I Ere I Saw Abel
Abel Sauveur 

13 April, 3014 — Orielon Watchhouse, Landing

The new Hostile was just a lump so far as Bremen was concerned. Granted, it was a frickin’ enormous lump, but since its cybernetic legs and arm were shut down, it didn’t much move, which made it a hell of a lot more boring than Sarah. The big son of a bitch fed himself now that he was off the IV, which was good, because Bremen didn’t fancy feeding it like a baby. Candus was always talking about how he wouldn’t mind feeding something to the lady Hostile, but none of them were particularly interested in having any more to do with the big one.

While it was recovering from its wounds, the Hostile just sat in a hospital bed, but now that they were mostly healed — it would have a nasty scar on the side of its head — the Professor had asked the guards to move it into a chair each day so she could try to talk to it. That meant moving it back each night too, and the gods-damned Hostile wasn’t exactly light.

Of course, just because a job was boring didn’t make it easy. Hell, the Hostile had to be the next best thing to 300 pounds, and it took two of them to haul his ass from bed to chair and back. It took four of them the first week, two Watchmen in full armor standing over the Hostile with batons at the ready while the other two actually picked the big son of a bitch. After damned near a week of the Hostile just staring blankly straight ahead, there didn’t seem much point in getting four Watchmen into the cell at once, so the Lieutenant stopped ordering the extra guards. That was five days ago.

This morning, Bremen was on duty with Candus, but for once the other man wasn’t talking, just yawning. The Hostile was awake, staring straight up at the ceiling with those creepy-ass red eyes. Candus went down to the foot of the bed, and Bremen grimaced, moving around to the heavy end. The Hostile neither helped nor hindered the process of the Watchmen picking him up by the arms and legs, his red eyes focusing on first one, then the other of the Havenites as he was picked up.

The Watchmen had the movement down to an art now, carrying the inert Hostile between , grounding his cybernetic feet as Bremen wrapped his arms around the thing’s barrel chest to hold it up, then maneuvering it around toward the heavy chair. Once it was vertical, Candus came around to its right arm, and Bremen took the cybernetic left, the two Watchmen lowering it down into the chair. There was a soft thump as they dropped it the last inch or so, and Candus looked across it to Bremen, snorting faintly, “Don’t know why we bother. It’s not like it…”

Bremen had never seen anything that big move so quickly before. One moment the Hostile was sitting upright in its chair, and then it was just… moving. The Hostile reached up with its right hand, grabbing the front of Candus’ shirt and yanking the Watchman close effortlessly. Even as it pulled down with its only functional limb, it whipped the dead weight of its metal left arm up and around, slamming the thumb-side of its cybernetic hand into Candus’ throat.

The Watchman’s griping died away with a too-soft crunch, and he tumbled back, grasping at his crushed wind pipe and struggling to breathe. Bremen stumbled back in shock, falling back and fumbling for the baton at his hip, and calling out, “Guards! Guards!” The Hostile glanced over at him, measuring Bremen with his ruby gaze, and then merely pushed his left arm back onto the arm of the chair and settling in.

By the time Bremen had found his feet again and the armed and armored duty guards were in the cell, Candus was dead, lips blue and eyes staring, and the Hostile was looking forward, through the energy field to the chair where Professor Figueroa sat to ask it questions. The guards slammed their batons down on the Hostile’s shoulders and living arm again and again, drawing bruises and blood. And the Hostile smiled.

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