Or, at least, not in a trained and skillful manner. The prisoners were soon clear of the town and headed out into the open landscape.
"Jessica13, are you there?" Robert7 asked over the comms.
She didn't reply immediately but made sure no one would be able to intercept or overtake them before she shifted the Minato into Bulletfoot mode and sprinted over the dried grassland toward the lonely APC. It could move at quite a pace, but the mech was considerably faster.
"I'm…fuck, going to have to fix that inertia dampener one of these days. Yes, I'm here, Robert7, coming up behind you."
"I was wondering where you plan for us to go from here?"
"Honestly? I hadn't thought we would get this far. I think you will probably be safer if you return to FEMA City."
"You know they'll only make us sign up and fight you again, right?"
"It’s better than you all being executed in what can only be described as a war crime."
Jessica13 wasn't sure if she meant that and had a feeling she would come to regret it, but it still felt like the right thing to do. She could face the consequences for it later.
"There's something coming up in front of us."
Robert7 sounded panicked over the comms and the APC began to slow.
She peered into the darkness ahead and confirmed that there were, in fact, more than a few somethings waiting for them. They were mechs, and judging by the spikes that protruded from their armor, they were the Prophet's, although they seemed in poor shape compared to when she’d last seen them. Most were covered in dust and evidenced all kinds of damage to their armor and weapons. A couple were carried on the backs of those that were a little more mobile.
"Halt!" the familiar voice of the Prophet said. The man's Argonaut stood out in front, his slug launcher aimed directly at them.
Robert7 did as he was told once again and brought the vehicle to a stop almost fifty meters from the massive mech.
Chapter Sixty-Six
There was no telling how long he had been in there. The darkness made it difficult to tell time but it hadn't been too long. They had only fed him three times, which told him it could only have been three days at the most.
He hadn't felt hungry enough to try the foul-smelling meals, but that was no real surprise. Food was certainly not something he was interested in at the moment, not after seeing Tinker die in front of him.
Hammerhand once liked to think there would be no man in the world who would keep him from avenging the death of his friend, but that was no longer true. He knew there were a great many who would, and every one of them were the members of his beloved Knights.
The enemy had won.
Trust had brought him down in the end, exactly like the Prophet had foretold. Damned if the guy hadn't lived up to his name. He wondered if he was still around to deliver what would be a justifiably smug, “I told you so.”
It was a hope, of course, and it would be more desirable if the man himself came to deliver it while he performed something like a rescue.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a very substantial hope. The chances were that the Prophet had either been killed, captured, or had simply run away when things had turned sour.
Maybe not the latter. He didn't seem the type to run away from a fight, although Hammerhand had been wrong in his assessment of others before.
He clasped his hands together until he could feel them burn from the strain. It was a way to try to give his mind something to focus on other than the darkness he had wallowed in for who the fuck knew how long.
Suddenly, the lock on his door opened and his cell filled with enough light that it hurt his eyes that had become accustomed to the darkness after so long. He groaned softly and covered them with slow, sluggish movements.
"Prisoner 317 will stand!"
The voice wasn't familiar but the tone was. It sounded like someone who was used to giving orders and having them obeyed immediately. When Hammerhand didn't, two pairs of hands caught him by the arms and shoulders and forced him to his feet.
"Prisoner 317 has been isolated for incarceration in the prisoner population—"
"Who the fuck is Prisoner 317?" he asked. His answer came in the form of a fist in his gut, which forced him to double over and gasp for breath as his whole body exploded with pain. Breathing was difficult for a few seconds before he was straightened by a vice-like grasp and he could see the man who spoke a little better.
He was a soldier, that much was obvious, and one who probably didn't spend too much time piloting a mech, judging by his neatly brushed hair and thick mustache.
"Prisoner 317 will remain silent," the man continued in a quiet, bored tone. "Prisoner 317 has been sufficiently acclimated to the prison and will be transferred into the general population forthwith. Do you understand these statements as I have stated them?"
Hammerhand looked at the two bruisers who held him up while the silence dragged on for a few more seconds. "Am I still to remain silent?"
"Do you understand—"
"Yes, I fucking understand."
"Then Prisoner 317 will be transferred to general population."
The men thrust him out of the cell and into the hallway outside. He was allowed to move on his own but only as long as he kept pace with them, and the pace was brisk. Unfortunately, he was sore and stiff from the battle and the subsequent sojourn in a cell that was a little too small so it took a few
