Following the pipes was easy. They formed nearly a straight line, occasionally branching out here and there according to the hallways. Although there was no outward indication, Cyrus could feel himself getting closer and closer to the center. To the control room.

"Urvosh!" a guttural voice shouted.

Cyrus glanced back, noting three startled Krakoshans emerging from a hallway behind him.

"Hey!" he called back.

Raising his plasma rifle, he fired a short burst of projectiles at the soldiers, blasting the nearest soldier into a bloody mess.

"Vanatu!" the Krakoshans cried, raising their own rifles.

"Damn lizards," Cyrus muttered, throwing himself into a nearby hallway. The longer he delayed, the more time the Krakoshans would have to evacuate the other kids. Sticking his head out, he popped his rifle around the corner to pump a few shots at Krakoshans. At the same time, the two surviving soldiers stuck their own rifles out and fired back.

Cyrus's shots caught one of the Krakoshans in the leg, spraying blue blood across the walls. Ducking back behind the corner, Cyrus winced as plasma rounds shuddered into the wall he leaned against, spraying chips of metal everywhere.

"Argh," Cyrus groaned.

Dropping to his belly, he raised his rifle around the corner and fired a few rounds at the last Krakoshan. The rounds splattered into the wall, missing the Krakoshan by a hair.

"Screw this," Cyrus snapped.

Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he dashed out around the corner, charging the last soldier head on. The soldier yelped in surprise, quickly bringing his rifle around to shoot him down, but he was too slow. Cyrus's fist punched clean through the corner of the wall, smashing into the Krakoshan from behind. The soldier's body flew into the opposite side of the hallway, crumpling into a heap of moaning agony.

Extracting his arm from the metal wall, Cyrus noted some of the sharper metal scraps had torn into his skin. Out of all his abilities, his durability was the least trained, but Cyrus had had a significant amount of experience ignoring pain. Still, he was thankful when his regeneration kicked in, patching up the tears in his arm.

"Urvosh!"

More Krakoshans had come out, further down the hallway. They must have been attracted to the shooting.

"Damn!" Cyrus spat, turning around to run.

The reptilian soldiers howled and sprinted after him, their long, powerful legs covering the ground easily. Cyrus glanced back, pouring on more speed as he tried to outrun the Krakoshans.

Suddenly, he stopped, whirling around to point both his rifle and backup pistol at the pursuing Krakoshans.

"Surprise," he said, grinning.

The soldiers slammed their feet to the ground, backpedalling furiously to get out of the way, but Cyrus had already begun shooting. Screams of pain drenched the hallway as his shots took out the squad from the knees down. Moments later, every member of the squad was on the ground, hands over their riddled legs and soaked in blue fluids.

"Ugh," Cyrus moaned, backing away from the bloody mess.

Glancing down at his guns, he noted with some disappointment that they were both empty. The only other guns in the hall within reach were soaked in blood, and the other rifles from the trio he took out earlier were too far down.

Cyrus grunted, dropping his guns and turning around. In all the confusion, he had forgotten to follow the pipes. He started to backtrack, but then stopped, eyeing the pipes along the ceiling. Just a few meters away from him, the pipes all turned in a sharp angle into a room closed off with a heavy door. Up ahead, more pipes came from the other direction, feeding into the same room. This was it.

Walking up to the door, Cyrus placed his hands on either side, then pulled, crumpling the heavy metal in his fingers. Planting his feet firmly on the ground, he heaved on the door, slowly cracking it free of its locks. Another heave ripped the door right out of its frame, forcing Cyrus to stumble back momentarily.

Almost immediately, a barrage of energy blasts sank into the door, pushing Cyrus back some more until he was pressed up against the other side of the hall. He growled, then hurled the broken door forward with all this strength, sending it flying through through the jagged doorway and crashing into the shooting soldiers inside, ending the barrage abruptly.

Cyrus pushed himself up off the wall, noting the newfound silence with satisfaction. Walking into the control room, he took a moment to survey its inhabitants. Three concentric rings of monitors were arranged around the door, sheltering rows of frightened Krakoshan technicians. Two Krakoshan guards had been standing by the doorway when Cyrus had first breached, but their torsos were now pinned beneath the weight of the door, guns far out of reach. The far side of the wall was covered in large panels of windows overlooking the red forest below, doubling as large screens put up for everyone to see. Through the screens, Cyrus could see cameras showing that the entire base was set into some kind of cliff. In one panel specifically, Cyrus could see the hangar he'd just come from. One ship was missing.

"That weasel!" Cyrus snarled. "Bolted like a damn rabbit."

Stomping to the nearest technician, he picked him up like a ragdoll and held him high for the others to see.

"To make myself clear," he announced. "You all understand Terran, correct?"

Most of the technicians in the room nodded to Cyrus's relief.

"Good," Cyrus snarled. "Because I'm getting tired of dealing with guys that don't speak Terran. Where did you put the other Kingsfielders?"

The technicians glanced at each other fearfully, murmuring among themselves.

"Hey!" Cyrus boomed. "I said, 'Where do you keep the other Kingsfielders?'"

Grabbing the arm of the technician he held, he twisted as hard as he could, nearly snapping the Krakoshan's bone.

"Stop! Stop!" one technician screamed as the one in Cyrus's arm began to howl in pain.

"Talk!" Cyrus countered fiercely.

"They left!" the technician shouted in thickly accented Terran. "Gone! Put on ships and we take to other bases."

"What other bases?" Cyrus demanded. "How do I free them? Do I recall the ships?"

"Bases all over planet," the technician said quickly. "You can't."

"Great," Cyrus muttered, watching the technician black out in his arms from the pain. "I'm too late."

He hesitated, thinking fast.

"What can I do from here?" he asked. "Give me a good answer, or this one is going to hurt."

He hefted the now unconscious technician in his arms for extra emphasis, staring down at the other Krakoshans in the room. Krakoshans were a naturally tall species so the technicians all stood at eye level with him, but at the moment, he might as well have been towering over them judging by the fright on their faces.

"Well?" Cyrus growled.

The Krakoshans shrank back, their eyes wide.

"Alright then," Cyrus said, lifting the technician in his arms above his head threateningly.

"Wait!" one of the Krakoshans shouted. "I can help."

Cyrus threw the unconscious technician aside.

"What do I do?" Cyrus asked, indicating the panels.

"Your breakout," the Krakoshan said in lightly accented Terran. "It caused evacuation. We send subjects to other facilities."

"How do I free them?" he asked, walking up to him. His station was at the outermost ring of monitors, right next to the windows overlooking the alien red forest far below.

"No," the Krakoshan said. "We do not control pods in other facilities."

Cyrus nodded.

"And what about the pods still on the ships?" he asked. "Can you do something about those?"

The Krakoshan hesitated, and Cyrus laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. He didn't put enough pressure to break anything, but it was more than enough to bruise. The Krakoshan suddenly nodded, and he let go, allowing the technician to rub his shoulder and shoot him a glare.

"How does this work?" he asked.

The technician waved at one of the screens, which showed a dozen blips.

"These are ships," the Krakoshan said. "Pods on ship receive my broadcast, and they open."

"Walk me through it," Cyrus said, stepping up to the screens.

"The control panel there," the technician said, pointing. "Pods registered in base can be controlled from there. You can order remote release."

Cyrus examined the control panel, cursing his inability to read Krakoshan.

"If you're wrong," he said, "I'm going to do worse to you than I did to your buddy over there."

He jerked a thumb behind him at the unconscious Krakoshan, the one he'd left on the ground with his arm twisted unnaturally.

The technician nodded.

Hopping over the first row of monitors, Cyrus motioned the technician back into his seat as he bent over the monitor with him.

"Code is one-oh-two," the technician said. "Transmit, very simple. Type here, hit send."

"Got it," Cyrus muttered.

He leaned forward to peer at screen, selecting the indicated blank carefully. Typing in the code, he glanced over at the technician for approval.

"You're sure this is gonna work?" Cyrus asked. "If you're wrong..."

The technician glanced back at the first Krakoshan, gulping.

"Yes, this work," he said.

"Good," Cyrus smiled.

"Urvosh!" a familiar cry called.

"Damn," Cyrus muttered, ducking behind the first row of monitors just as the guns began blasting. The technician he had been speaking to squealed as a plasma bolt ripped through his chest, slumping lifelessly against the monitor. The remaining technicians cried out in fear, but at least they weren't getting in his way.

Raising his hand just above the desk, Cyrus reached for the screen, doing his best to keep his head down. Immediately, two plasma bolts ripped through his hand, burning the flesh.

"Agh!" Cyrus howled, pulling his hand back in pain.

That kind of shooting was too accurate to be normal troopers. A quick peek through the monitor's reflection confirmed his suspicions. A squad of Krakoshan soldiers, wearing body armor this time and carrying plasma rifles instead of energy. He was definitely pinned now.

Cyrus quickly racked his brain, trying to think. Most modern commandos were different from ordinary Krakoshan troops. Unlike the common vatborn variety, these were civilians, born and raised to have a warrior's mindset, not unlike Cyrus himself. These Krakoshans also wore heavy armor and were armed with the best equipment.

"Kingsfielder!" a Krakoshan voice called in broken Terran. "Come out and surrender and we will not kill you!"

"Liar," Cyrus muttered, cradling his injured hand close to his chest.

He began crawling toward one side of the ring of monitors, doing his best to muffle his movements.

"At least talk to us," the voice continued. "If not, my men have orders to flush you out with grenades."

"Alright," Cyrus called back. "I'll play along."

"How did you escape?" the voice asked. "We thought you were all sedated. How did you manage to break free?"

Cyrus stopped at the end of the desks, peeking out at the commandos. They hadn't seen him yet. Scrambling forward, he managed to get himself behind the second row of desks before a flurry of plasma bolts buried themselves into the ground where he was a moment ago.

"I can't say for sure," Cyrus lied.

"Okay," the voice said. "Then what are you doing here, in the control room?"

"He's trying to free the others!" a technician called.

The voice laughed.

"He's too late. They've all been evacuated. Would you like to join them?"

Cyrus growled, pressing himself against the desks. Glancing up at the screens, he noticed a Krakoshan ship on one of the cameras, swinging slowly toward the control room. Caught between a rock and a hard place.

"I know how to release the other kids!" Cyrus shouted. "I've already sent out the code! You're too late!"

"No," another voice said. "Even if you release the kids in midair, they're still in pods. It'll take at least twelve hours to defrost and regain motor function. Once we have you back in custody, our technicians will be able to track down the missing pods from this control room. Your rebellion is finished. Give up and you'll be treated well."

Cyrus glanced up at the windows, now seeing the ship lurch into view. No way out.

"Alright," he called. "I'm going to stand up. Don't shoot."

Standing up slowly, Cyrus turned to face his captors. Six armored Krakoshans wielding precision plasma rifles stood by the doorway. Another two crouched on either end of the first row of desks. The ship in the windows was also pointed at the room, guns front and center.

"Good try," one of the Krakoshans admitted. He was a little shorter than the rest, and he carried only a handgun. He was older than the rest, Cyrus realized. A commander, not a member of their squad. "You almost had us there. But as you can see, we have firepower on our side."

The commander motioned to the ship outside and grinned.

"Hey!" Sahib's voice suddenly boomed through the window.

Cyrus started and spun around, glancing back out at the ship. Behind the guns, Sahib waved back at him through the windshield.

"Your five minutes were up," he said dryly through the speaker. "Duck."

The guns on the ship began pumping away, sending massive plasma bolts crashing into the room. Several monitors blew apart as the plasma bolts triggered explosion after explosion. Cyrus dove to the ground, just barely missing a large plasma bolt that went sailing over his head, blasting apart the doorway where the Krakoshan squad was still standing. The technicians screamed, some of them caught in the crossfire.

Staying tucked under the desks, Cyrus covered his ears, drowning out the explosions until everything had died down. Then, he got up and looked out the window again.

Sahib shot a thumbs up, leaning into his dashboard.

"I think I got everyone!" he said. "Hurry up and finish so we can get the hell out of here."

Cyrus glanced at the wall behind him, then at the smiling boy behind the windshield.

"You almost shot me!" he snapped.

Glancing down, he was surprised to see the monitor next to him was still intact. Diving into the now vacant seat, he typed in the code and hit the broadcast button.

"Just hope this works," he said, standing up. "Sahib, pop the ramp. I'm gonna come to you."

"Got it!" the smaller boy chirped over the speaker, turning the ship around slowly. "No pod left behind, huh? Let's go-"

The speaker cut off as a series of booms rippled through the air. Sahib's ship exploded, tearing apart as another larger ship loomed into view. At the front of the ship, Cyrus could see another armored Krakoshan wearing gold plated armor, a sword drawn in his hand, standing behind the windshield.

"No!" Cyrus shouted.

Pieces of Sahib's ship sank slowly, the propulsion systems still slowing the ship's descent. There was no sign of the boy.

"Dammit!" Cyrus screamed. "Sahib!"

The bigger ship whirred, its cannons cycling as they refocused on the base. Cyrus gritted his teeth, backing up to the wall. If he was going to go down, he was going to go down fighting.

His eyes met the Krakoshan behind the windshield, the one in gold armor. The Lizard looked openly contemptuous.

Cyrus lurched forward, sprinting toward the ship as fast as he could. Just before he reached the edge of the room, he leaned forward, feeling himself grow lighter as he tucked his legs off the ground. Flight. One of the most advanced Metahuman powers. In combination with his strength, it was going to be deadly. For them.

Cyrus roared as he landed on the ship's nose. His landing dented the metal. He was going to kill him. He was going to-

A plasma round slammed into Cyrus's chest, burning his shirt away. Cyrus screamed in pain, then another struck his head and the screaming stopped.

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