Quota 0/391 — Only 3 days left
The complex's silence was broken only by the far-off hum of machinery and the murmur of whatever moved through the colossal pipes they'd seen earlier. No one, for that matter, had known what to say to Nathaniel.
They'd been stuck in the New York mansion and had burned a full day because they couldn't figure out a way to open the labyrinth door. The lone silver lining was that they weren't trapped outside the maze but only one of its ends was blocked. They could still hope, hope that not every path was a dead end curling back into this vast chamber. Failing that, there was always the fabled key.
"Shirley and I are heading back into the labyrinth. Use the walkie-talkies if you find anything useful to open it."
As he spoke, Nathaniel and Shirley stooped to grab a motor and a crate of empty bottles from his pile of loot. Since they were going back near the entrance, they might as well drop them along the way, saving the group a pointless round trip.
Once the pair had clanked off with their scrap, Olivia and Victor carried on to the third catwalk partly hidden behind the vast wall. It was narrower than the other two and, most importantly, not bathed in the spotlight. To their left ran a long pipe, split lengthwise, tracking the walkway like a parallel spine. If not for the several meters of sheer drop beneath, Victor would've trusted himself to stroll along it without a second thought.
They reached the end of the catwalk after passing an empty cabinet. To the left, an opening yawned into darkness, and at the far end of the room, a door waited.
"I volunteer to handle the door," Victor said, mustering his most confident voice.
He had to sell it. Even with a flashlight, the dark scared him. Victor wasn't a child anymore; it was just that monsters hid better in shadows, and he had no desire to cultivate a new trauma.
'I still need therapy for the Jester,' he thought while Olivia was already slipping through the dark opening with her flashlight in hand.
His own door, mercifully, wasn't locked. He wasn't thrilled by what lay beyond it, though.
The room held two catwalks, with nothing but open air between them. Once, there must have been a bridge. Now only a thin metal beam hung partly over the abyss.
Victor's problem was that a hairbrush and another door were waiting for him on the other side. They waited there, like a mouthwatering pastry behind the counter of a bakery.
So close, and yet so far away.
'I'm not seriously going to have to leap across this chasm for a hairbrush, am I?' he thought, squinting at it. It would fetch twenty, tops, in Company credits, not much, given all they had already hauled in.
Even so, his gaze clung to the pink brush and the door beside it. Maybe the door hid a key, maybe more loot. Victor had no plans to do this job forever. The faster he could paid his debt, the sooner he could go back to earning a pension. France wasn't generous with retirement age, and the longer he dawdled on this adventure, the longer he would be waiting to cash in.
'I do not want to be still working at seventy.'
That was enough motivation for him to attempt a two-meter leap of faith.
The void was a ruthless enemy, but his determination was stronger. Victor launched himself without looking down or back, eyes locked on the goal. The girder groaned beneath him, its stability pushed to the brink of collapse but still holding.
Adrenaline flooded through his veins, his heart pounded like a Buddhist monk striking a gong with all his might.
Time seemed to slow. The brush rose through his field of vision as if a celestial hand were lifting it away.
Reality, of course, was neither glorious nor epic. He wasn't fighting a god or any supernatural thing. It was a two-on-one: facing both Newton and of course, himself. Newton and his stupid gravity dragging him toward the void, and he himself, because he'd forgotten to jump.
Reality hit as hard as a Tom Cruise stunt. Victor smashed chest-first onto the opposite catwalk. The adrenaline evaporated, replaced by pain, numbness and stark terror. His orange jumpsuit took the brunt of the blow, leaving him more frightened than injured, still hardly ideal with three-quarters of his body hanging over the void.
"HELP!"
He probably shouldn't have shouted, but he couldn't hold himself back. He could feel his arms slipping on the metal. His life hung on their strength which, frankly, wasn't much. Behind the visor, his eyes darted over the few square centimeters within reach, searching for anything—anything—to help him pull up. He didn't have the strength to do a proper pull-up, and numbness from the impact had turned his muscles sluggish.
Olivia was the only one nearby, the only one who could save him. He needed a hand to haul him back from the brink of death. Any hand would do, it didn't have to be human, as long as the creature attached to it was willing to pull.
In that moment, he almost wished a Jester would appear, just so he could cling to one of its small white legs. Wishful thinking. It wasn't as if he kept a Jester as a pet on standby.
He kept sliding, fingers still clawing at any amount of grip possible. Olivia wasn't coming. She must not have heard his shout, and he didn't have a free hand to use the walkie-talkie. He was alone.
'Unless…'
He had never truly been alone.
Victor craned his neck so hard it ached.
He was well and truly alone.
No monster poised to devour him, no nightmarish creature ready to force him to let go. A long fall was dead last on his preferred ways to die. A fight to the death with a Jester would at least be more dignified.
That thought jogged a final idea. Though his hands were the only reason he was still breathing, he peeled one away from the metal. His already frail balance went from forty seconds of life to maybe five. All because his second hand reached for a keychain. He fished it from his pocket and flung it over his head with his last bit of strength. The small object traced a perfect arc and clinked down near his hand.
"My boxy companion…"
He cut off his emotional speech. There wasn't time. It was time to let go, to let his faithful and cubic companion find a master worthy of it.
'Maybe Olivia… they're about the same height anyway…' he thought, as the creature about a meter and a half tall appeared before his very eyes.
The Jester had no face, but he could imagine tears pouring from his invisible eyes. In reality, the creature stood still, its small white arm hanging by its side instead of resting on the handle. Victor stretched out his dangling hand and gripped it.
The sensation was strange, like illegally ducking under a museum rope to touch a marble statue. The hardness, the smoothness, the cool luxury of it. If he had to die, there were worse last impressions.
He shut his eyes and let go.
Weightlessness filled him. Not unpleasant, if only it could last. But this wasn't space; the ground was rising to meet him. He could feel it even with his eyes closed. This was the moment when his life was supposed to flash before his eyes—an unremarkable childhood, a young adulthood spent chasing any trace of his father.
Instead, nothing.
'Maybe you have to keep your eyes open. Psychologists really could've made that clearer,' he grumbled.
Victor opened them, scanning his surroundings with disbelief. He wasn't at his grandparents' place or back at school, not that those memories were any important. What stood before him wasn't his fondest memory, but his worst nightmare.
Towering over him, visor shadowed, stood a Jester. The demonic thing held his hand, its iron grip hauling him up as if to drag him into its infernal realm. He struggled, of course, trying to wrench free, but his strength wasn't enough.
'So this is how it ends…' he thought, as he was drawn closer to the creature and its monstrous jaw.
He'd seen it, what lurked behind that deceptively cold, cube-like shell. His gaze hardened, if only to show he wouldn't go quietly.
The Jester lifted him onto the catwalk and didn't release him until his legs were safely clear of the drop. Victor collapsed, breathless. He tried to get up, but his arms were still useless from the strain. All he managed was to raise his head, look at his nemesis—and realize it was his pet.
Welp.
So the creature could act on its own. Another thing the system hadn't bothered to mention—not that he'd asked.
Victor turned his head toward his prize.
Hairbrush: x1 — value 8
The door swung open, revealing two more rewards:
Key: x1 — value 3
And, more importantly, two white feet—larger than those of the Jester behind him. An old acquaintance: a grotesque white sculpture.
"Yup. Still modern art pervert nonsense," he muttered, still sprawled on the floor. All he had to do was to keep his eyes on it.
Thump—Thump—Thump.
The sound echoing behind him was not one he wanted to hear.