87 Below

Chapter 19: Break-through

A/N: Already up to 1.1K!? What? You guys rock! <3

Bit of a short chapter today, but the next one is already being written -^^-

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The halls are bustling with the coming attack. Atlas and Hope weave between the groups of soldiers. The control room was two floors up and a few doors down. Atlas turned to look at Hope, never slowing his pace. He couldn't see her face through the mask, but he could picture it now: determined and headstrong.

His lips buzzed just thinking about her. He couldn't remember ever kissing someone, so the touch had been a new experience for him.

Surely we've kissed before? Maybe I felt that old connection.

They rounded the corner to find two armed guards standing in front of what Anita had claimed was the control room. Atlas leaned over to whisper to Hope, "You'll have to get rid of them."

Hope nodded and stepped confidently forward. She stood directly in front of the two poor soldiers. Her shoulders were pushed back, and her chin held high, her hands placed firmly on the weapon. Her voice was the perfect projection of her authoritative stance, "Soldiers. We're here to relieve you from your duty. The commander has requested all available hands report to the sentry posts at the entrance."

Atlas had assumed his position next to the woman. Her voice was unwavering as she attempted to sway the women in front of them. The soldiers share a glance before snapping to attention in the presence of authority.

"Squad Leader, we were scheduled here until half past the hour. Surely there are others to take our positions as sentries?" Hope moved closer to face the two women. They would have shrunk back against the door if they had been permitted to break attention.

Hope's voice boomed through the halls, turning a few heads, "You dare question your superior? These are orders directly from the commander. We fought in the defensive line previously and sustained injuries. You-"

Her speech was drowned out by the wailing of the intercom. The two soldiers craned their ears to listen to the obnoxious voice speaking to them, "All available units report to your stations. All available units move out."

Hope took a step away from the pair to gesture for them to get a move on. The small women seemed grateful for the excuse to leave. They scurried down the hall without so much as a glance over their shoulders. Atlas and Hope assumed their station beside the door. They mimicked their previous guards' lax stance and leaned against the door. Once the commotion in the halls had cleared to a few stray members rushing to meet their deadlines, the couple reached for the handle. The door was unlocked, opening with a squeak. They hurried into the room, shutting the door quietly behind them. Eagerly, Hope moved to take a step forward before Atlas grabbed her bicep.

She looked to him with curiosity when he placed a finger on his lip. Sitting in front of a wall of screens was a chair. Though they could not see the front, a set of legs was propped up on the counter just in front of the chair.

Hope shakes off Atlas' hand and continues forward, crouching this time. As she inched closer, she removed the cloth band around her arm. She quietly moved until she was behind the chair. Atlas watched with shock as Hope jumped up, attaching the cloth to the guard's throat. The guard jolted up, but Hope's grip was tight. The flailing spun her chair around several times, revealing an older woman with gray hair. Her hands were tearing desperately at her throat as she stared at Atlas with terrified eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, the woman let out a strangled sound before her eyes rolled up into her head. When Hope let go, the woman slid slowly down to the floor. Atlas was at a loss for words. Hope yanked off her helmet, letting her waves fall free around her small face. Her jaw was set as she spoke, "For my mother."

She reached down to check the woman's pulse, placing a delicate finger to the base of her throat, where an angry red line was starting to form. Atlas set out for the massive computer on the desk, stepping carefully over the woman's body.

Hope stepped up to join him, watching over his shoulder as he sorted through countless files, "She's still breathing. We have to move fast. I don't know if her body would be able to sustain any more oxygen loss if she wakes up."

Atlas nodded, concentrating on his work. The computer system was a mess—folders with duplicate names and numerous files without designated folders at all. With a frustrated sigh, Atlas sifted through the masses until he came across one: a folder labeled '87'.

Project 87.

Clicking the folder quickly, Atlas tapped away at the keys trying to find his file, but with no luck. He had already typed his name and promptly clicked through hundreds of prisoner files. Suddenly, he felt Hope's soft fingers on his shirt. She tapped his shoulder blade, "Take this off." she commanded.

Atlas stared at her with confusion. His heart did a flip as she watched her roll her eyes, "I need to see your number. Maybe you can search for that." Atlas quickly removed his bulletproof vest, feeling naked again as he lifted his shirt to reveal the ink-black numbers.

Of course, our names wouldn't be in the record. They strip us of our identity, and they strip us of our will to fight.

"030118" Hope read those numbers that Atlas had forgotten even existed on his back. His fingers flew across the keyboard with anticipation. This had to work. The computer froze for a moment before a prisoner file and photo popped onto the screen. It was Atlas.