[MAX]
I feel it important to reiterate what may otherwise be considered obvious: I was being dragged away to solitary confinement, I was unarmed, and I didn't have my phone. And because the FBI had taken my phone, I knew I could no longer count on its use ever again. See, once upon a time Reznor and I had come up with several different codes, protocols, and contingencies. Amidst all of that I had given Reznor explicit instructions that if I were to be arrested and they were to successfully take my phone, it needed to not only be inaccessible, but completely blank. Not that I didn't trust his hacking and programming skills — I say with the utmost of confidence that he is the best of the best — but I couldn't take any chances that anybody would get lucky.
Maybe one of the only things I have in common with every other twenty-something-year-old is that my phone contains almost my whole life. And in the event that you're a notorious vigilante who's wanted on an international scale, you can risk absolutely no one accessing your entire life.
Reznor had agreed to my terms, but he took it a step further. Because I get my personal phone directly from him, it's completely specialized. And because of that, he was able to rig it so that it could undergo a type of self-destruct. If he realized that the phone is no longer in my hands and being tampered with, it not only is wiped, it's rendered completely useless as anything other than a paperweight.
Great for the sake of keeping my secrets safe. Terrible in the event that I'm trying to break out of a situation such as the one I was currently in.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was back at square one. Unfortunately for me, Square One Max Destin was a disaster in and of herself, which meant that however I was going to get out of this ... it probably wouldn't be pretty. It certainly wouldn't be as smooth as most of my other recent escapes.
You've got to remember: I was on my own. Nobody was coming for me.
So square one was all I had.
By some strange miracle, I was only being escorted by two men in suits. Don't get me wrong, they were both considerably larger than me and looked like they could break my arms as easily as they could toothpicks, but still. Only two. I was, admittedly, expecting a little more fanfare, under the circumstances, but I couldn't say I was upset.
It is easier to fight two guys than it is to fight six. While fighting six is not necessarily impossible, even for someone my size, it is difficult. Fighting two? At least doable, under the circumstances.
The only problem was what I was going to do after I dealt with the two of them. My brain sped ahead of me as I considered options and methods of escape, but I pulled myself back to the present and stored those thoughts away.
One thing at a time.
—
There was elevator music.
That had to be the most outlandish thing about the entire situation. There I was, in a secure FBI building, being escorted not just to prison, but to solitary confinement, and there was elevator music.
And it wasn't even good elevator music.
I stared up at the ceiling as we descended. I watched my own reflection in the mirror above for a few seconds before my gaze darted to the heads of each of the men beside me. They were no less huge from an aerial view, but they also weren't presently paying attention to what I was doing.
I had a plan. I stared back at myself in the ceiling mirror for a few seconds as I deliberated over the soundness of said plan. If it worked out and I was successful, then I wouldn't have to worry so much about the nuances of escaping the actual building.
I reminded myself One thing at a time, and I shrugged my concerns away.
"So, listen," I began as I looked to the guy on my right.
Opening my mouth had been enough to get him to look down at me. His brow furrowed. I could feel his partner's grip shift as his attention also focused fully on me.
"I don't know what moron was in charge of planning this transfer," I continued, "but they probably need to be fired."
Then I stomped my right foot down on his left. It was all the surprise I needed to free my arm from his grip.
I made an effort to free my left arm, to no avail. Instead Lefty's hand slid down to my wrist. When I pulled again it forced him to turn to face me for just long enough for him to give me an unimpressed look.
My smile was smug when I punched him in the throat with my free hand.
As expected, Lefty gagged and released me. I spun back around to face Righty just before he could wrap me in a bone-crushing bearhug. Since his arms were still open, I jabbed at his sternum, then punched him twice in the stomach. To add insult to injury, because we all know that's one of my favorite pastimes, I delivered an uppercut that would've made any boxer proud.
I shoved Righty away from me and grabbed his gun out of his holster as he went down, then stepped back as he collapsed and his legs splayed across the floor.
I took that moment to punch the STOP button on the console.
The elevator's sudden stop caused both Lefty and I to stagger, but I was more prepared. I stepped up onto Lefty's knee with one foot, then brought the other knee slamming up into his jaw. He followed a similar path as his buddy as I fell back from him.
I landed unsteadily on my feet and got my bearings. Satisfied that they were both down and out — albeit temporarily — I took a moment to shove the gun I'd stolen into the back of my pants. Then I turned my focus to the elevator doors. Is it as easy to pry them open as it looks in the movies? The short answer is sometimes. But in this case, I didn't need to do that. The elevator still had power.
So I pushed the OPEN button, and it did its job.
The elevator had stopped between floors, the lower more so than the upper. I ducked and jumped out onto the lower floor and took a moment to look around at the remarkably empty hallway. I could see glass walls ahead of me, along with hints of what looked like office spaces past them, but none of that interested me.
What interested me was the red fire alarm to my right.
It wasn't the first false alarm I'd pulled in a public space. Given my lifestyle, it probably wouldn't be the last.
I will say I didn't stick around to try and blend into any crowds this time around. I didn't really want to take any chances at being recognized, since my presence in the building was by now probably common knowledge. Instead I ducked through the door marked STAIRS and took off running. I barely made mental note of the floor numbers as I went.
I had four flights of stairs to get through before I was even on ground level, and that would no doubt present all new problems. One thing at a time, Max, I reminded myself as I jumped down the last half of the last staircase. No sooner did my feet hit the ground than did I bounce back up running. What waited for me past this door could be best described as chaos.
Men and women of all sizes and uniforms streamed their way toward the various exits of the lobby from everywhere in the building.
I took four ... eight ... twelve seconds to locate the nearest emergency exit. It took twelve more seconds for me to reach it. I pushed through and burst into daylight without so much as a glance over my shoulder.
