"Left or right?" The question was proposed by the young man to the left of the group. He stands with his feet parted carefully and an easy expression, blank gaze, relaxed posture, lips run in the natural frown that pulls down the corners of his lips. A hand runs over his jacket, massaging his shoulder delicately caught up in thoughts of something else. Dante can't blame him; they all are.

"What does it matter?" Words come from the voice of his left. Always so quiet that he's surprised when she manages to speak without being prompted. More surprised that it isn't sarcastic. "We won't make it to the rendezvous point either way." She tucks a strand of navy hair behind her ear and stares off at the concrete wall ahead of them.

'Split up,' Irene had said. And who was the one who had the map of this place? To be fair, it wasn't much of a map. Pieces were missing or blacked out and others required coding or passwords to see whole sections of the dingy place. It was impressive though, above the filth of the level they stood on were stories of lies and deception. No one would think what hid beneath the building was anything other than a parking lot or a furnace and spare generator. Still, for such a place it was a maze to navigate. Dante found himself relinquishing the warmth his hoodie pocket provided to rub at his left temple in hopes his headache would go down. Too many halls they'd been down and not enough of them had lead to the Empress.

"Oh honey, aren't you as optimistic as ever," King breathed to himself with a shake of his black curls. He stretched out his hand and ran it through the dense locks that were giving him trouble. The humidity was stifling for how far underground they stood and because of it his hair had begun to poof up. For a man who cared about his appearance as much as he showed he did, it must've been the beginnings of a tragedy.

Dante, however, had no time for such things. He was sweating, he was cranky, and he had no clue where he was going. Alarms rang overhead but they were faint now. They came from the higher levels they'd broken into and continued to sound without any show of stopping. Hell had broken loose up there and they had the signs to prove it. Dante's personal evidence was the scrap of a pocket knife along his left shoulder. Blood had soaked through his hoodie's sleeve and now worked on drying, but the damp sticky material forced his body to flinch each time it made contact. Whether the wound itself was continually leaking he hadn't bothered to check, but what he did know was that it stung hard enough to force his teeth to grit everytime the shoulder was moved.

"We're going right," Dante decided for the three of them. He reached out and shoved King gently to get his point across and was given something between a glance and a glare as they started to move.

It got even hotter. The thrum of a generator struck up and hit the back of Dante's ear and vibrated the floor beneath his feet. It was as subtle as a train rolling across the tracks. Ahead of them, footsteps echoed too. They turned to glance at one another. Miserable shakes of their heads that meant there was nothing to be done.

Alarms blasted over his pounding feet. The intercom in his ear crackled but the static dislodged any sentence he could make out. King was already ahead of him and moving faster and Nora, well when he craned his neck he couldn't find her but the sounds of the tunnel were too loud to be sure of anything.

They met the first assailants around the next bend. A pair of guns that were shot out of the guards hands with icicles and King was left to finish the job as Dante dodged around a crumpling form and went ahead. Now they knew where they were there was no time for lieger. He sprinted down one hall and turned left and went down that one until he found himself spotting a pair of figures before him. A door was propped open and computer screens flashed inside as hands sped across then. Dante allowed a thin smile.

"There you are. Where are the others?" Irene held up a hand in deep concentration and offered an apologetic glance to Dante as he slipped into the room.

"Who knows," Clint muttered bitterly and leaned against one of the instrument panels. Behind him sat a black, metal key.

"Those are for-"

"Once I get the door open, yes," Irene responded with a rush of syllables from her lips. "And that should be now."

The alarms died. The panic stopped. A lock disengaged. She smiled to herself and Dante smiled for her. Clint nodded a small amount to show his approval but it was clear he was distracted with another one of the computer screens that had begun to scroll through a long list of names of those dead and injured, of broken locks, of bloodied photos with a shadow just out of reach of the camera lense. The other two peered over his shoulder.

"That, if you're wondering, is a list of the Empress's crimes." The voice came over the speakers plants at the edges of the room. "I'm sure she's told you plenty about her hero days but I wonder if she's informed you about those before?" Dante felt his throat pinch closed as he read the ever growing list. "No? Well in that case let me inform you. This little program activates once those doors are unlocked. I'd hate to be the one to change your minds when you were so close, but I feel it's only fair you know the truth."

Silence barred down upon them as they watched. Irene shivered. Clint ran his teeth over his lip but none of them said anything. Not until it was over and had they all looked at each other and the screen turned back did the man's voice come back over the speakers. "Well?"

Dante's hand slipped over the key first and closed around it.

"We're not helping her." Clint's voice was firm, his shoulders squared. "I say we leave her to what she deserved."

Dante hesitated. He pulled back a step. "How can you decide so quickly?" His brain raced for better responses whether to plead her case or to shoot her down with him.

"The things she did aren't what heros do. That gives all of us a bad rep, following her into this- this mess!" the words were spoken adamantly with his hands clenched into fists. The room dropped a few degrees.

Irene hesitated beside him. She ran a hand beneath her beanie absently, lips puckered in thought. There wasn't time for thought unfortunately.

"I'm going to free her," Dante decided only after the words had left his mouth. They sounded right. They sounded like something a hero would do. Not that he was one. He was far from a hero but that'd didn't mean anything in that moment. The hero before him was choosing the route that left a woman to die, no matter who that woman was.

A scoff passed Clint's lips. "I'd expect no less. You stick together, don't you?"

"What?" Confusion knitted his brow and he stepped to the door.

"Criminals," Clint clarified. "You stick together."

It was spat so accusatory that Dante couldn't even handle a lie. "Why would that even matter here?" He corrected himself, "that doesn't matter here. That was a long time ago." And it was and it had been stupid but it wasn't like he was making up for it now. It wasn't like it was something he could make up for nor did he want to. Stupid things like that stayed in the past where they belonged. Although, he did risk a glance at Irene to make out her confused expression before he stepped to the door of the prison cell and yanked it open. "Doesn't matter."

"Dante wai-"

He shut the door behind him. A breath squeezed out of his throat but it was messy and uneven. Forcing himself to focus, he flicked his gaze around the room. It smelled no worse in here than anywhere else. The walls were the same damp concrete grey and he reached a hand out to touch one and swipe the condensation from it.

"Mr. Gallagher." The name met him with surprise. It was a moment before he realized she was referring to him, but he managed to turn and face the Empress with a straight face.

She looked beaten. Black strands of hair clung to her face, oiled and greasy from weeks of not being washed. Her makeup was all but gone, what little left smudged around in random places of her face and dark circles hung beneath her eyes. They themselves were hollow and warn and more than a tad apprehensive. She tried to draw herself up before him in an intimidating manor. It was clear, however, that she was out of practice and that the chains restricted her from fully straightening her spine and lifting her head. They'd become too heavy.

He knew he was lying to her now. Hiding behind Clint's face as he had from the start. That was what had gotten him into this mess. There were no other options though. It'd be a useless thing to correct her and it would wind up with him getting burnt with the rest of the building when she was free. All he had to do was play the game a little longer.

"Ms. Sato." A flash of a smile from his teeth. It wasn't quite as wide as Clint would have worn his. Dante's was tattered at the edges from the throbbing pain in his shoulder and the beating of his heart in his ears.

Yet she accepted it. Then, she took a second moment to compose herself. This one was not as rushed as the first. Her eyes gazed over the chains in a calculated fashion, her chest puffed out, and she took in a deep breath that rattled his hoarse throat. "I'm guessing... that you heard his side of things." She proceeded with caution with each of her words, testing the air as if one fell phrase would send her to her fate. He knew the feeling.

"I did." Dante ran his fingers over the cold metal of the key in his pocket.

"I can assure it wa-" her voice caught when his hand raised.

"I don't want to hear it." A perplexed look crossed her face and he swallowed a lump in his throat to try again. "What I mean to say, is that I don't care. I was hired-" no, that wasn't right. Clint volunteered. There was a difference. It didn't matter. "-to do a job and within the parameters of that job it was stated I'd be listening to your orders." A pause, a swallow of breath. He was watching each word he spoke, trying to match it to that of the asshole in the other room. "I believe those are still in play, so I'll only ask one question."

A thump sounded on the door behind him. Likely clint, trying to break in but the metal was too thick. He stood rigid for a moment and looked down at the woman and watched the way she watched him. Digging around in his pocket, he produced the metal object for her to behold. Dante held the key aloft to speak for him.

With weak lips, she managed a smile. "If you would be so kind."

He nodded silently and bent down on one knee to undo the chains, hoping that with doing so this would all finally be over.