He didn't know if it was night or day when he finally put his plan into action. Preparation had taken time, hiding his plans from the cameras and trying to act as least suspicious as possible. The toothbrush had taken a while to sharpen and the creams had to be mixed in a way that the contrasting chemicals would react in the way he wanted. Using the knife in his shoes and the lethal poison coated on it to cut a tiny hole into the side of the tennis ball and pouring the rest of the poison from the sheath hidden in his shoe inside before adding the corrosive mixture he had made. As soon as he added it a fizzing noise was audible. Neil grinned and pulled on his blazer, the kingsman suit he had worn when he first arrived dirty but would protect him better than anything else in that room.

It was a quick muttered countdown under his breath as he pressed himself to the bathroom door and stared at the metal one. He had one shot at this, one. If he failed then the homemade bomb in his hand might just end up killing him. But it was the best shot he had. Just as he reached the number three, the fizzing sound in the ball building, the hatch at the bottom of the metal door slid open and a tray of food was slid through. Neil reached one just as the hatch went to slide shut and he tossed the ball. It bounced, once, twice before rolling and being caught between the hatch sliding down and the floor. Neil twisted into the bathroom as the resulting explosion shook the walls and debris clattered through the doorway. 

It was only the thick rock walls that protected him from the blast. From the hallway came several shouts and cries of pain. The soldiers who had been patrolling obviously not having been so lucky. From the cells on either side of him, Neil could hear terrified cries of other captives. Ears ringing he jumped up and into a cloud of dust. The blast had blown the metal door of it's hinges, just as he intended. (A door maybe reinforced but the hinges normally were forgotten about). The metal rectangle was visible dented on the floor of the corridor and the place where it had stood was charred and cracks were visible in the rocks. Neil didn't pause to admire his handiwork. He was through and past the three bloodied bodies of white clothed soldiers on the floor, scooping up one of the automatic guns from the floor, and down the corridor. The shouts of the other captives echoing behind him. Their own thick stone walls and heavy doors protecting them from the blast just as they had with him. 

Five soldiers came running round the corner and were taking bullets to the head before they could even blink. The concrete stone walls were high above him and the bleak white electric lights illuminated every corner as Neil hopped over the bodies and raced down the corridor. "Oh shit", he gasped as he was immediately backtracking and racing down a different turn. There had been about twenty soldiers down turn number one, luckily the second branch led to a empty corridor. This one had rough hewn walls similar to the ones in his cell and no doors. That made it much easier to scale. 

Slinging the strap of the stolen weapon over his shoulder, he activated the knife in his shoe again and dug his fingers into the stone. The rock cut into his skin but the gritted his teeth as he pulled himself up high, the blade digging into rock and helping him to keep level as he reached the ceiling. The position made him remember a time where he had to escape the bedroom of a government official in France by climbing down the wall via the balcony. He grinned to himself, ignoring the blood on his fingertips as about thirty soldiers ran down the corridor below him. Once their footsteps had faded, he quickly climbed back down. 

Neil huffed, pulling a face at his bloodied hands and the hundreds of tiny cuts littering them. The freshly healed scar on the inside of his thigh ached at the physical exercise and he groaned. This was what he deserved for being out of practise. Healing had let his skills grow lax, it was irritating. Biting his lip, he continued onwards. 

The corridors all seemed the same. One after the other. The only fact that Neil knew that he was going somewhere was his terrific sense of direction and the fact that he had shot out the cameras in every corridor he had been through. The sparks and broken lights int he ceiling serving to leave a trail behind him. Luckily most of the guards were running towards the explosion site and away from wherever else they were stationed. But that would not last for long and time was running out. 

He ran out of time just as he reached the mouth of a corridor that was different from the others, smoother, smarter than the others. The lights were brighter and the walls were smoother. He didn't get much of a glance before armed men were storming down the corridor. The first row fell as the gun fired. The second row were quick to step over them and raised their own weapons but they fell as well. Neil had good aim and not a bullet was wasted, but he didn't have enough bullets to get them all. Muscle memory carried him through the rest of the fight. Running closer while firing, spare hand grabbing the nearest man and spinning him round to use as a shield against the oncoming bullets before firing back. 

The body jerked at it was struck and Neil's eyes flickered down. The man wasn't dead. No bullet wounds coated him in blood. Instead there were small darts like those used by hunters  sticking out of his chest. It seemed like Valentine still wanted him alive even after the escape attempt, probably because of Richard Draven. His father was never one to let someone go easily, not even through death. Neil gritted his teeth and fired back. He did not have a gun with tranquilliser darts, he had bullets and the dead men at his feet weren't asleep. 

The man in his hold finally slumped and Neil tossed him aside, leg flipping up to knock the next man to the floor. The gun clicked in his hold and he swung it up as a few dozen darts before slamming it into another man's head. He vaulted off his shoulders as the figure went down, landing on the back of the next one and laying out both of the men charging at him with kicks to the throat as he broke the man's neck with a twist of his hands. Then he was falling with him and scooping up a dart gun from the floor and delivering a neat silver pin into the exposed skin of the last five men. They dropped like stones and Neil stood, panting slightly as he dusted off his suit before walking onwards. 

He turned a corner and there was Valentine. Gazelle, his assistant standing next to him and two more soldiers in white behind him, dart guns raised. Neil raised his gun and Gazelle was moving, spinning as her leg came up. The blade of her prosthetic sliced the gun in two halves and rested threateningly at his throat. Neil sighed, exhaustion and acceptance filling his heart. He dropped the gun and raised his hands in surrender. "I guess this is where I come to the end of the line". 

Valentine chuckled. He was dressed in his usual clothing and Neil itched to knock that ridiculous designer snapback from his head. "I was quite surprised to find that our heir Draven was actually in fact an Agent Tristan from the Kingsman agency. Your father had no idea".

"Why yes, that was my intention", Neil offered, voice polite as if this was mere business meeting rather than the decision of his fate. "I suppose it was Arthur who told you". 

"We came to an agreement". Valentine waved a hand. "You can relax now Gazelle. We can't kill him just yet". Gazelle relaxed but her dark eyes stayed rested on him as she stepped back to Valentine's side. The older man grinned. "Not before the show. His father wants to deal with him himself and how can I deny a friend such a favour?" 

"I'd much rather you shoot me right now", Neil groaned as the soldiers came forwards and forced him to his knees. "I mean, tattling to my daddy? Rude". They forced his hands behind his head and he rolled his eyes. 

Valentine chuckled. "I suppose I could just shoot you like I did your friend but I guess I'm going to play into the villain trope for this one". 

"Wait, who?" Neil's eyes widened as the soldiers hauled him up. "Who did you kill?" 

"Nothing to worry about!" Valentine laughed as a third soldier levelled the tranq gun at him. "Let's just say that Agent Galahad won't be coming to bother us anymore". Neil barely had time to absorb the information before the gun fired and there was a sharp sting of pain. He glanced down at the dart sticking out of his neck then back up at the villain watching him. 

"You know that the villain never wins right?" He slurred as the darkness started to curl over his vision. Valentine's smug reply was lost as the drugs hit and he slumped into unconsciousness. 

unedited