legionmissions | PIIIIIIIPE WREEEEEENCH FIIIIIIIIIGHT

The moment the metal clanging becomes distinct from the noise Pidge's packing up is making, Wash's eyes widen and his head jerks up, as though he's trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. A glance at his motion tracker reveals that whatever's making those noises isn't in proximity, but from the sounds of it, they're closing in fast.

He locks eyes with Pidge. "Run."

Run...where? Wherever Wash is going, she figures. But "away" doesn't seem like it's going to cut it. This district is hard to navigate even when you can your time, at a run it's going to be the worst obstacle course in the world.

"Where are we going to go?"

"Away from that." He'll take hostile terrain over hostile sentients any day of the week, especially since hostile sentients in the form of Tributes have come after him three separate times already. He grabs Pidge's elbow, yanks her to her feet, and takes off, trying not to think about how whatever's coming up the hall sounds like it's gaining on them.

But the acoustics in this zone can be misleading. Foxface knows where he wants to herd them, he's not going to get tired, and he's absolutely gaining on them.

It's not that long before he comes into view, rounding a corner in massive strides. The tale-tell crackle of electricity sparks from his body, a promise that if he catches them, it's going to hurt.

Pidge doesn't miss the robot thing gaining on them, and as she runs she uses the arm not currently in Wash's hand to pull out her grenade.

It's probably her first instinct because it's the only action she can take besides running for her life. She knows, logically, that at the rate it's running, escaping the explosion would be a matter of a few strides, but it makes her feel better to have something.

Boy, does she hope he has a plan.

Ohhhhhhh shit. That looks about as bad as it sounds, and it's all Wash can do to resist putting on a burst of speed as he finally catches sight of the Robotican in hot pursuit - no sense in pulling Pidge off her feet.

Speaking of which-

He glances at her, and just as importantly, at her grenade. "Save it!" At the rate they're going, odds are that Foxface will run right past it before it goes off, and that's their one explosive wasted.

Wash absolutely does not have a plan as he pulls her down the left side of a fork in the road - right now, he's thinking on his feet as best he can and praying they don't hit a dead end or a trap they can't turn to their advantage.

She sees Foxface too and suddenly it hits her: If they get far enough away from him, she might be able to hack into whatever circuit board is driving his brain and short him out.

But before she can relay this to Wash, they have to actually get that distance. Going left was at least a good choice. Even in the hazy murk of the bad light and her own tiredness, she can see there's a door. Let's hope there's enough to barricade it too.

...But the moment they step through the threshold, it's a moot point. The door slams shut behind them. In the stunned silence that follows, Pidge can swear she hears Foxface's heavy footsteps slow to a halt and then turn the other direction.

"...Feel like we just made a huge mistake?"

Wash skids to a stop the moment the door shuts behind them. That's not good. That's never good. They already know Arcade is an uncreative bastard, which means he'll probably steal more from media he's watched or read, and a door slamming immediately shut behind someone usually means there's something worse in the room they've just entered.

He opens his mouth to reply to Pidge when the lights flicker and brighten, blindingly so, to reveal what's in the room in front of them: a simple walkway about three feet wide, with a pit too deep to see the bottom on either side.

A split second later, a steel pillar slams down on the walkway with enough intensity to make the walkway vibrate. A moment later, two more pillars slam together just above the walkway. Behind them, another pillar crashes down into the walkway. Slowly, more and more pillars start moving, striking the walkway or each other in alternating patterns, until the room they've walked into clearly reveals itself to be a chomper room.

Wash closes his eyes for a moment, using the time to bite back a frustrated scream, and then looks at Pidge. "Does that answer your question?"

Pidge makes a small grumbling noise of disgust and annoyance in the back of her throat. This whole thing is set up to push her past her limits but...

"...Did Arcade build this himself or did he just find a planet full of terrible architects?!"

OK, no, focus. "It's just a pattern. We should be able to decipher it pretty easily. Unless..."

She has the presence of mind to give the recently slammed door a few pushes, just in case. If they thought it'd be locked, then Arcade may be toying with them by not locking it but...no. It's just straight-up locked. Worth a shot.

"Pretty sure he stole it from a movie," Wash comments dryly. Oh, yeah, Wash definitely remembers seeing this one. "Pretty sure the characters in the movie talked about just how stupid this kind of trap is." He hopes Arcade is listening; to that end, he'll insult Arcade's nonexistent creativity as much as he possibly can. It's petty, but it sure makes him feel better.

He catches sight of Pidge checking the door, and for a moment he can't help but hope-

Well, damn. "It's never that easy, is it," he mutters, turning back to the chompers and setting about memorizing the pattern. "The hard part of this is knowing if there's enough space to stop between sets - I can't see the farthest ones from this angle." Not being able to stop would make this a hell of a lot harder than it needed to be - which, of course, is why Wash wouldn't put it past Arcade. After all, Arcade wants to kill them all; why make it easy for them?

"If it had worked, it would have been great television." There's no humor in it. Does Pidge look as tired as she feels? Or maybe she'd have to be actively laying on the floor.

"Alright, start counting from the first crusher." it smashes to the ground, and she starts.

"I've got six seconds between hits."

"Only if you're selling comedy," Wash replies. "This is bloodsport." Like Grifball, but with far fewer rules and potentially more casualties.

He probably shouldn't be thinking about that right now.

"That sounds right." What he wouldn't give for the timer on his HUD. Hell, what he wouldn't give to have his armor here at all. But wishful thinking isn't going to get either of them anywhere, so he cuts it off. "Do you think the walkway's wide enough for both of us?"

"There's probably someone out there watching this and rooting for Arcade." Pidge eyeballs the start of the walkway, testing it with her foot. "As long as we don't start playing tug of war on it we should be good."

And then she grabs his wrist. She really doesn't want to get separated from him here because if they get separated, that's two sets of calculations they'll have to do rather than one.

"Probably." Wash shrugs - there's always someone out there being an asshole for the sake of it.

He raises an eyebrow as Pidge grabs his wrist. That's unusual. Chalk it up to sleep deprivation or just not wanting to go it alone. "Okay. Are you counting or am I?"

"Oh, I don't even-" She nearly snaps because this is starting to feel like stalling, and her patience is running a little thin. "Whatever, I'll count. Ready?"

"Got it." His tone is mild, because running angry is a damn good way to get killed. "On your mark."

She nods, and begins to count out loud. No sense risking any confusion.

"...2...1...now!"

Pidge tries only to focus on the next smasher, not the one behind her, not the next after the next, but she's tired, it's loud, the walkway vibrates like it's going to fall apart at any second. But she counts off, even as it takes every ounce of her focus and makes her head throb.

It's all she can do to keep Wash from seeing the tears pricking her eyes at the end of it. It's just a response to all the stress, but it's still a little embarrassing.

He readies himself and moves on her mark, keeping pace with Pidge as best he can. He counts silently beside her, just in case, but despite exhaustion she's completely on her game. The trap is loud and ugly and leaves his ears ringing, but they make it out the other side in one thoroughly unsquished piece. Wash glances at the trap behind them - quiet and still, now that they're out of range, and looks back at Pidge. The tears may be a result of exhaustion or frustration, but that doesn't mean he's exactly happy to see her upset. For a moment, his stomach twists and his lip curls - Arcade pulled children into this death arena, and he's going to damn well get what's coming to him.

But that's in the future. The next moment, his expression falls back to neutral, and he places a hand lightly on her shoulder. "Well done."

The door ahead of them is still a few yards away - and automatic, much like the one behind them, he notices with displeasure. It could open at just about any moment and they wouldn't have any say in it. Still, for the moment, it's closed, and it's a moment they should take advantage of. "We should rest here." He rubs his ear with a hand. "Or at least wait until we can hear normally again."

She can offer him a small smile for the praise, a silent thanks, but that's as far as either of them can go right now. She doesn't trust that door either, and absolutely not enough to sit down. So she leans against the wall and closes her eyes, just for a few moments.

"Sure, but we should-" Then she bolts back upright.

...Are those the robot's footsteps again?

Wash settles as best he can, rolling his shoulders slowly and keeping an eye on the door. The ringing is starting to abate now that the trap has stopped, and while he's not about to crash out completely, he knows he can go from resting to combat ready in a few seconds flat, so-

That train of thought screeches to a halt as the rough, rhythmic sound of metal on metal echoes down the hallway and through the door. Goddammit the Robotican is back-

He's on the opposite side of the small entryway, in full view of the door and with his knife drawn, in a matter of seconds. "I'll distract it," he says tersely. "You run." Pidge is tired and frustrated; Wash is used to running on exhaustion and has more experience than he'd like in taking down opponents while at a severe disadvantage. He can handle this. If all else fails, he can try to lure the Robotican into the crushers or toss it off the edge.

She's in a battle stance, however much good it'll do in this situation. She can't fight off a robot without her bayard, but she can be ready for whatever it does.

...And then Wash is trying to send her away so, what, he can spare her the pain of watching him get torn apart? Absolutely not.

"No way! I'm not leaving you behind!"

That's entirely too much arguing and Foxface takes the opportunity to charge them both.

His ocular senses detect the small one leaving her position and running around his side, in a way that makes it seem like she's trying to get behind him. In a movement like a piston firing, his arms shoots out and grabs her by the arm before he tosses her back into the room she just came from.

Of course the door slides open to admit the killer robot into the room. Of course.

Wash pulls his rifle off his back and brings it to bear in one smooth movement, just as Pidge moves and the Robotican goes for her, shit shit shit-

But he learned to shoot under pressure, and hopefully hitting his mark will put murderous attention on him instead of her. He hadn't been Freelancer's top marksman for nothing.

He aims for Foxface's eye, adjusts for movement, and pulls the trigger.

Edited (what am tense agreement) 2016-11-10 23:55 (UTC)

Clink.

Foxface's head jerks backwards from the force, and when he brings it back down, it's with a deliberateness that should communicate all the sudden rage that Wash's actions have sparked.

His left "eye" is shattered, exposing the wiring and the ocular device behind the glass. Which is also broken. And the way Foxface tilts his head may give away that Wash knocked out his vision in it completely.

It also gives away that Wash is a target. Foxface charges at him in an attempt to overpower and subdue him as quickly -and painfully- as possible.

Well. That worked. Time for step two.

Wash recognizes that slow fury, and the favoring of the left eye - York had done that for a while, before he'd gotten Delta to compensate for his loss in sight. For now, Foxface has a blind spot (hopefully) and a very threatening non-expression (definitely). It's all very theatrical. "That's right, asshole," Wash murmurs, taking the momentary lull as an opportunity to reload. "Come and get it."

Hopefully Pidge is using the opportunity to get the hell out of Dodge. It's a vain, somewhat stupid hope - this is Pidge, after all, and she's as stubborn as the day is long - but he's hoping anyway. It's about all he can do at the moment.

Foxface charges. Wash aims another shot at Foxface's other eye, fires, and dives to his right - Foxface's left - and hopefully right into Foxface's blind spot.

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