"Ah-ah-ahhh," chided the bulbous, cloaked figure behind the shutters and reinforced glass, waggling his white-gloved finger. "You're in no position to be impudent! I think it's time you relax a bit. Assistant!"

There was a series of loud clicks. Incandescent backup lights illuminated a catwalk high above the group, where, next to a thick pipeline attached to various pressurized tanks, tubes, and yet more pipes, there stood another bird-mask-wearing figure. Previously unnoticed because of the poor lighting, he was now clearly visible: Below the mask, he was solid white, and wore a red cape, brown gloves, brown boots, and a familiar shield on his back. He gazed down on the group for just a couple seconds, then turned around.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. The noise continued several turns, then was followed by a loud hiss. He was turning a large, round, red-painted wheel valve. Gas as thick as pea soup began to pour into the room from the openings above. Jack and Ember would find its appearance and drowsying effects most familiar.

Simultaneously, metal crates all around the room began to open, then collapse into a flat, unfurled form to reveal strange robots. They were rather large, almost a little egg-shaped in the body, and had powerful-looking, earth-mover-thickness arms and legs. Their paint schemes seemed unfinished; they were largely comprised of bare metal, dark-colored panels of composite materials, and even some sections of bare electronics and wiring. Whatever they were, they were not yet fully manufactured, but apparently complete enough to fight.

Tank would find one of these 15-foot monsters ready to grab and hurl him away from his intended mission at the entrance.

It was hard to tell if Jack's attempt at ripping wires had done a whole lot. The conduits that were especially crucial were too thick to be ripped by hand, so, while the machine did take a couple funny missteps, and its right arm had some twitchy spasms, it remained apparently functional for the most part.

Meanwhile, the gas was thickest at the top of the room, where Jack had to fly to attack the ermine. Even through the poor visibility, the swordsman drew his blade and sliced the bundle of wires easily, almost effortlessly, while hefting his shield with his other hand to give her fist nothing but a hard, nigh-impervious surface to impact. It was clear that ousting him from his position would make for a good fight.

In short, the confrontation wasn't starting well. Hulking robots were already lurching with surprising speed after her friends, with at least two going after Ember and trying to snatch her up in their huge, metal hands, and if they kept breathing in the mysterious gas, they'd have but maybe a precious 30 seconds of usable motor skill and coordination remaining, and maybe a minute of full consciousness. The room was a lot larger than the small, confined space they'd suffered their first gas-attack in, so it took longer to permeate the air. That was the only concession in their favor at that moment, though.

The robot struggled to reach Ember to get it off of itself, but like a backhoe try to tie shoelaces, did not have the dexterity. A second of the hulking robots approached to assist; its idea of assisting was firing punches at the other robot, in hopes of smashing Ember. Its first couple missed, dealing significant damage to its comrade.

And then, Ember's tinkering had an unexpected effect, as suddenly both of her robot's arms went wild and started sparking and flailing. The would-be-helper robot got decked straight in the face and was sent staggering backward, windmilling its own arms as it smashed directly into the gigantic egg-pod Jack had seen the bird in.

The pod cracked and sparked, and its glow faded. No other results for the moment, though.

"What? A gas mask, really?" blurted the grungy PA voice of the so-called "phoenix" with some irritation. "Stop wasting time!"

Meanwhile, the red-caped figure flourished his sword in a quick maneuver that seemed to stow it in behind his shield, in his-shield-holding hand, as he crouched on the catwalk behind said sturdy cover, then suddenly stood once more with an uncannily accurate spray of throwing knives—four in all, all hurled from a single hand—directly at Jack.

Somewhere down below, nearer to Ember, the very large capsule her robot assailant had accidentally broken began to make strange noises, flicker as if with fire, and emit smoke (not that the latter was terribly apparent, as hazy as the room was already becoming).

While Tank bowled over a huge robot down below, Jack's opposition raised his shield as she raised her gun, but did not anticipate her unconventional angle of attack. A ricochet? In the middle of a fight? It must not have even occurred to him that anyone would try such a thing, much less that it would work. Yet, there it happened: one of the two shots flew true, and his already-injured leg was struck (not in the precise spot it was before, but in another, creating yet another wound). With a painful-sounding yell, he fell sideways onto his hip, struggling to grasp at the handrail to stay partially upright, only to get socked square in the face.

The blow dazed him; he reeled loosely to the side, fell face-first onto the catwalk, and accidentally rolled under the railing. As he reached to grab hold, his shield tumbled loose and fell to the ground far below, leaving him hanging defenseless by his hands.

The shimmering, bloated-looking cloaked figure behind the armored window across the chamber had been standing there the whole time, watching, occasionally pressing white-gloved hands to the glass as he leaned close against the glass to watch the action unfold almost as if amused, excited, or anxious. Maybe it was all of the above. Then, something started beeping madly on one of his consoles (the noise audible over the PA), and he wheeled around to check, then darted back to the glass again just as quickly.

"Deverell! Containment has broken! It's capsule #1! You know what this means! Stop hanging around like a ninny and do your job or it's all over!"


Deverell.


Fact check: Jack had shot one of the masked abductors in the leg at the butcher shop on day 2. Deverell went to see the doctor the next day, and avoided the group all day. Dureau was in good health as recently as the evening in the tower with Jack on day 3, with no wounds. When the abductors showed up at the castle to allegedly kidnap Deverell later that night (the early morning hours of day 4), there was only one shot heard fired, yet "Dureau" was shot in the leg, and there was a bullet hole in the ceiling. And the sword-throwing and knife-throwing? They had already seen how ineffectively Dureau handled a blade on the morning of day 2, when Deverell soundly dispatched him in their spar, and day 3, when he was no match for even the loopy Sir Corin.

The ermine they saw in one of the pods below just a minute ago could not have been Deverell. The ermine hanging from the catwalk right then was absolutely not Dureau.