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Impulse felt the air rushing through his lungs as he breathed in. And out. And in. And back out. He couldn’t give anything away. Anything he said or did could give the whole game away.
If only I hadn’t gotten hit…
Cutting off his own train of thought, Impulse couldn’t help but glance at the thick gauze around his shoulder. The gunshot from what he thought was the day before had started to heal, but Impulse couldn’t see the full extent of it because of the fact his hands were tied. Literally.
His feet were also tied to the chair legs, which made him all stiff. Really, it wasn’t the best situation.
“So, are you gonna tell me yet?”
Impulse’s eyes snapped up to glare at Martyn. “Nope.”
Sighing, Martyn shifted his weight, leaning back to look at Impulse.
“I’ve already told you you’re getting nothing out of me,” Impulse snarled. “I’m not telling you how to get in that vault.”
Slam! Impulse barely twitched as Martyn pounded both hands down into the table, face inches from Impulse’s. The two were eye to eye, brown meeting blue in a relentless staredown.
“Tell. Me. Now.”
Impulse let out a breath, gaze unwavering. Setting his jaw, he raised his chin confidently.
Just a bit longer. Anytime now.
“Like I said. I don’t know.”
“That’s not what you said before,” Martyn’s gaze narrowed. “So you do know how, you just don’t want to say.”
Impulse said nothing, simply watching Martyn.
“I can change your mind,” Martyn reached into his pocket, adding to the threat already clear through his words.
Holding his stare steady, Impulse replied, “I think you’ll find my mind very hard to change. Skizz calls me stubborn a lot.”
Before Impulse could even attempt to flinch, Martyn’s hand flew out of his pocket, fist cleanly crashing into Impulse’s jaw. Martyn’s brass knuckles left angry patches of bruising on his cheek that he knew was going to hurt more later. Impulse almost spat out another sarcastic comment, but the taste of iron in his mouth sobered his thoughts.
Don’t go too crazy. You need to be alive when they get here.
“Anything changed?” Martyn raised an eyebrow.
Impulse said nothing, instead opting to spit out the blood in his mouth onto the table between them.
Sighing, Martyn shook his head. “Guess we’ll have to try again.”
Once again, Impulse was powerless as Martyn prowled around the table. His steel-toed boot came down on Impulse’s own. Pain spiked up into his ankle as Martyn continued to lean over Impulse, almost like a taunt. Before Impulse could process the pain in his foot, a brass knuckled fist took the air out of his lungs, his gut protesting as he tried to recover and take air in again.
Over all of the pain, his shoulder still complained, the injury not even 24 hours old. Impulse was getting dizzy as his lungs took a second to start working again, his vision whirling around him.
“Still nothing?"
Impulse feebly shook his head. Give him nothing.
This mantra started ringing as his world started to steady. Give him nothing.
“Shame, Impulse, I thought you of all people would help me. Should’ve known you were just as drop-dead loyal as the other three.”
Give him nothing.
Give him nothing.
Give him—
Impulse’s world exploded, his veins igniting into pain as Martyn’s hand dug into his wounded shoulder. Clamping his jaw, he forcefully kept his mouth shut so there was no thought of giving anything up. Martyn was getting nothing out of him. Nothing.
There was nothing in Impulse’s mind but pain, and so that was what he focused on. His mind swam, every part of him screaming as Martyn pressed harder, thumb pushing directly where Impulse knew the bullet hole was. The agony tripled, and Impulse didn’t even think as a muffled whine escaped him.
Bzzt.
Impulse was pain—every single part of him was on fire.
Bzzt.
Martyn let up a bit, and he dared to breathe for a split second.
Bzzt.
Martyn let go entirely.
Bzzt.
Impulse realized it was Martyn’s phone that was going off, rattling on the table.
Lunging for it, Martyn’s eyes went wide as he read the screen. Before either party could say a word, a siren started blaring somewhere close by.
Impulse smiled, still a bit dizzy. It’s time. They’re here.
“You know, Martyn, sometimes it pays to have steadfast allies rather than just lots of connections.”
Martyn snapped back instantly. “You aren’t going anywhere. I’ll be back.”
“Good luck with that,” Impulse quipped.
Blinking through pain, Impulse barely saw Martyn twist open the door, then freeze.
“Hey, Martyn,” a familiar voice said. “I think you’ve got something of ours.”
“You’re not getting anything—” Martyn started, but Impulse saw the barrel of a rifle sitting on Skizz’s shoulder, aimed directly at Martyn’s face.
Skizz smiled. “You already know my buddy here is a sniper. I think he can put the bullet between your eyes no matter how close he is.”
Backing up, Martyn eyed Skizz as he rushed in, Tango following behind with the rifle. Impulse watched as Tango switched the rifle to a smaller pistol, but before he could see more, his view was blocked.
“You okay, Dippledop?” Skizz knelt in front of Impulse, grabbing his knife to cut Impulse free.
Impulse blinked. “Mhm. Dizzy, though.”
“We’re getting you out of here.”
Snap. Feeling the pressure lessen on his right ankle, Impulse began to breathe a little more. Over Skizz’s mess of hair, he could see Tango holding Martyn at gunpoint. Thankfully, Impulse’s tormentor didn’t seem to be making any moves at the moment.
Snap. The pressure dissipated on his left ankle, Skizz starting to stand.
Impulse slowly realized that there was someone missing. “Where—Where’s Etho?”
Skizz paced around him to cut the rope around his wrists. Leaning down, Impulse felt Skizz’s breath on his ear. “Keeping watch. He’s our getaway driver this time.”
Snap. Flexing his fingers, Impulse felt the tingling that meant blood flow was going back to normal.
“Ready to get outta here?” Skizz offered Impulse a hand.
Taking it with his good arm, Impulse shakily stood. Pain still rocketed through several parts of his body, but he paid no mind to it for just a moment. Skizz gently wrapped him in a hug, a warm fuzzy feeling of safety ringing in Impulse’s chest. Wiggling for a second, he managed to free one arm to return the gesture.
“Glad you’re okay,” Skizz whispered, hand ruffling Impulse’s hair. It was a fond gesture the two exchanged a lot.
Impulse managed a smile. “Glad you came.”
“Alright, gentlemen,” Tango interrupted. “In case you forgot, we are on the clock here.”
“Sorry,” Impulse and Skizz said in sync, separating as Skizz led the way out the door, Tango bringing up the rear.
Tango shut the door, turning back to Impulse with a smile. “I am glad you’re okay, Impulse.”
“Me too,” Impulse cracked. “Thanks for coming.”
“Martyn good?” Skizz checked, Tango immediately nodding.
“He’s gonna be busy for a while.”
Skizz led them through the maze of tunnels that Martyn had taken Impulse into. After a while, his shoulder and bruised ribs caught up to him, and Tango let Impulse lean on him for support.
Finally emerging from the tunnels, Skizz proudly presented Impulse’s van. Squinting, Impulse could just see Etho waving from the driver’s seat.
“You used my own van to come and save me,” Impulse deadpanned.
Skizz rolled his eyes. “Give us a little more credit. Yours is the biggest, while simultaneously inconspicuous.”
“I don’t think I’d call a weird white van inconspicuous,” Tango shot back.
Protesting Tango’s comment, Skizz opened one door, Impulse flinching as he climbed in.
Looking up, Impulse found himself making eye contact with Etho through the rearview mirror.
“Good to see you, Impulse,” Etho nodded.
Nodding back, Impulse buckled his seatbelt. “Good to be back.”
Skizz and Tango got in the other side of the van, still bickering about something. Impulse didn’t even bother to listen as he tilted his head back against the seat, a comfortable sleep overtaking him with the realization that he was safe.