The Apprentice

Take the Fall

The hallway walls are stained white from the ever-brilliant LEDs. There, underground, night and day become a choice. For the housekeeper creeping on her tip toes down the hall, it's daytime. For the boy, stashed away in his room, it's night.

Slade informed her that his apprentice has been asleep for over an hour, and that she has nothing to worry about. And yet, she clutches her stiff skirt tightly in sweaty fists as she comes face to face with his door. Tacky yet informative, the name etched into the metal burns into her mind. Robin.

Such a sweet name for such a dangerous boy. All the knives she packs into his utility belt are gone by the time he returns to headquarters, and he never brings home the same motorbike. Slade says he gets a thrill from the danger— from the danger he causes. Who gave him such a sweet name?

Taking an encouraging breath, she lets her skirt go. She whispers to herself "He's just a sleepy little kid, Carolina," but isn't convinced. She abruptly bites down on a groan of frustration and buckles over, fuming. "Come on now, Carolina Wren, it's this or the electric chair."

The door recognizes the chip sewn into her collar and disables the lock, allowing her to slide it open at her discretion. She sucks in her plump belly and squeezes through a crack, letting as little light into the dark room as possible. The room is so devoid of sound and movement that for a few moments Carolina is rooted to the spot, not daring to breathe and disturb the air. In those moments she spots the bed, and the lump of grey sheets on top of it. It rises and falls ever so slightly, reminding Carolina to let her chest do the same.

Her eyes wander from the bed to the bare floor, then the desk, where she spots two masks. Carefully, she inches towards it, and picks up the one with white eye covers. One item down. This isn't so bad, she'll be out and washing in no time. To her surprise, the uniform isn't on the floor in a discarded heap, but hung up in the walk-in closet. Each piece of armour sits aside on a shelf, and she can't help but shake her head in disbelief. Where did he learn such good manners, to uphold them even when he's a prisoner? Who named him Robin?

A quick rattle of her head brings her back to her task, and she warily pulls the shirt and pants off their hangers, then grabs his gloves. Her fingers close over something small and hard in the fabric, and her breath quickens. Hunching over to shield her findings from the view of the cameras, she shakes the glove over her hand and two small pieces of metal fall into her open palm. Her breathing stops.

Carolina almost drops the clothes as she barely controls her instinct to throw the chip and earpiece far away. If Slade sees these— if Slade finds out— if Slade thinks she was somehow involved—

Her free hand flies up to cover her mouth, trying to quiet her increasingly laborious gasps for air. She's served safely under Slade for three years. For three years, he told her defy me, and I will take you back to carry out your sentence. Is she trembling?

She can't take any chances. Slade has to know. She'll bring it to him, he'll congratulate her, and keep her safe another year. It's the only way.

Heading out of the walk-in closet, her feet trip over an obstacle that wasn't there before. Carolina tumbles to the ground with a grunt, her fist still tight around the powerful secret. A figure in black clothing crouches in front of her, and she looks up in terror. Ice-blue eyes pierce hers in the dark for the first time, sharp with shock. They dart down to see the clothes she's holding, and the gloves tucked under her arm. The eyes rise up to meet hers again, pleading. Not ice, but robin egg blue.

They both realize his mistake at the same time. Cameras glare at them from the corners of the ceiling, waiting for them to move, and reveal what they know. If they attract attention to the gloves, or her closed hand, it's all over. Carolina watches him beg with his eyes, and crumbles slightly under the weight of her guilt.

"E-excuse me." She says in a voice hoarse with regret, getting to her feet. Robin stands quickly, grabbing her arm.

"Don't—" he starts, and she looks up nervously at the cameras. Robin grits his teeth and lets go. "—worry about it. Take care of... my clothes."

Carolina holds the uniform tighter, but can't find the words to reply. Anything she could say to reassure him would be a lie. Shakily, she turns and walks out of the room, leaving Robin in the dark.

Robin and Carolina Wren, two birds who hopped from one cage to the next. At least he's fighting for his friends on the outside... Carolina lost those a long time ago.