Fannec Records - Book 1: Outlaw - Chapter 4

Robert’s heart pounded against his ribs like a caged animal trying to break free. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he pressed his ear against the cold metal door, straining to decipher the muffled voices on the other side. He thought the place was deserted and the signal had been a glitch. But now, with people talking beyond the door, reality snapped back into focus.

“Fantastic job, Robert. You outdid yourself this time.”

The dim facility offered no comfort as shadows danced across the walls, their sinister partners being the silence of machinery and the distant echoes of footsteps. The overwhelming scent of oil mixed with something more acrid and metallic assaulted his nostrils, making it harder to concentrate on the conversation behind the door.

“Maybe they’re janitors,” he tried to convince himself, though he knew better. The tension in his muscles mirrored the dread tightening in his chest. If he were caught snooping around, the consequences would be less than desirable.

“Or maybe they’re armed guards discussing their favorite ways to dispose of intruders.” His wry sense of humor offered little solace. “Either way, it’s fantastic news, right?”

A quick survey of his surroundings confirmed what he had already figured: no way out. There were no windows, vents big enough to crawl through, or an escape hatch on the floor. Cornered in the derelict building, he stared at the unlocked door as footsteps grew louder. No escape from this predicament was available to him.

He whispered to himself to think, searching for a solution in desperation. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as his mind raced through possibilities, each one more far-fetched than the last.

“Hey, did you hear that?” A voice came from the door’s other side, causing Robert’s blood to run cold. He held his breath, praying that his whispered musings hadn’t given him away.

Robert imagined their faces, twisted with suspicion and curiosity, straining to listen for further signs of an intruder. He had to act fast before they decided to investigate beyond the door.

“It’s just a rat.” Another voice dismissed after a few moments. Robert almost sighed in relief but managed to catch himself in time.

“God, I hate rats,” the first voice said, a shiver of disgust clear. “I swear, one of these days, we need to get an exterminator in here.”

“Right, because that’s our biggest problem right now. That stupid safety system keeps malfunctioning. We need someone to fix that. It can draw too much attention,” the second voice retorted.

Robert smirked at the banter, even as his lungs burned. It was almost comforting, in a twisted way, to realize that potential criminals shared his penchant for snarky commentary. He assumed they were criminals. It didn’t make sense to Robert that this place wouldn’t be occupied, with no guard out front, unless it was being used for nefarious reasons.

He forced himself to stay focused while stifling his amusement. “I need them to leave, and then I can figure a way out of this mess.”

His eyes scanned the room once more, desperate for a solution. But the bleak surroundings offered no answers, only the crushing reality that his fate remained precarious.

Without a word, he pleaded for the men to leave, the weight of his situation bearing down on him like a giant concrete block. Every noise was amplified, exaggerating every water drop and scurrying of rats.

Robert’s stomach leaped into his throat as the door to the room creaked open. His fists clenched tight enough as he prepared for a fight, expecting the worst but hoping for the best. In walked a man who contrasted against the gritty atmosphere of the facility. He was dressed more for a cocktail party than running around a warehouse, from his polished black shoes to his crisp, white dress shirt, complete with cufflinks in the shape of miniature half-moons. His hair was a shade of silver that was chosen, with close attention to detail, to match the rims of the sleek glasses perched on the end of his nose. Everything about the man screamed predator.

At first glance, Robert assumed he must be an executive or some higher-up sent by whoever owned this place. But then reality hit him like a ton of bricks; this was no executive. This was someone much more dangerous. Robert could tell by looking at him that he didn’t show up here to save anyone.

“Ah,” the well-dressed man drawled, surveying the room with casual disinterest. “I thought I heard something.”

Robert’s heart sank as the realization hit him. He swallowed hard, steeling himself for what was about to happen.

“Grab him.” The man ordered, his voice smooth and calm, as if requesting a simple cup of tea. As if knowing his men would carry out his bidding without question. The other man complied, his loyalty unflinching. A burly man who looked like he had won several bar brawls lunged forward, seizing Robert by the collar of his shirt and yanking him out of his hiding spot.

“Nice to meet you too,” Robert quipped, struggling to maintain his wit despite the fear coursing through his veins. The burly man responded by tightening his grip, his knuckles turning white.

“Give it a rest, Slim. Take him to the front room. We’ll deal with him there.” The well-dressed man chuckled as he waved his hand dismissively.

The criminal nodded, dragging Robert down the darkened corridor without ceremony. As they passed various pieces of rusty machinery and discarded tools, Robert noted the place’s distinct odor and unhygienic state. He wondered if this was some health code violation for illegal operations. He could submit an anonymous tip to the authorities if he made it out of this alive.

“Hey, watch the merchandise,” Robert said as his shoulder collided with a jagged metal edge. The man grunted in response, hauling him through a doorway and depositing him onto a rickety wooden chair without regard to his comfort.

“Stay put.” The henchman, dressed in a grime-covered black leather jacket and dark green pants that stank of campfire and sulfur, let out a flat growl before stalking back down the hallway.

Robert sat in the rickety wooden chair, his back and legs bruised from the rough handling. He glanced around the lit room, noting the peeling paint on the walls and the thick grime that coated every surface. A part of him marveled at the fact that such a place existed on Mool, while another part was already trying to devise witty one-liners for when he would have to explain this fiasco to his new friends.

“Name’s Robert,” he said aloud, trying to sound confident as the well-dressed man and two of his goons entered the room. “But you can call me Robert.”

“Rob, huh? Phineas Foreman, but people call me Mr. Foreman,” He smirked, an eyebrow raised. “Well, Rob, you have a knack for finding yourself in interesting situations.”

“Ah, yes,” Robert said, forcing a chuckle. “Perhaps I do. Must be a gift.” Mr. Foreman rubbed his temples, apparently aggravated by the stranger’s evasiveness.

Mr. Foreman eyed him with suspicion in his eyes. He was obviously not used to someone talking back to him like this. But Robert refused to be intimidated. He had learned from experience that maintaining an air of respectability could often get you out of tricky situations unscathed.

“Is it now?” Mr. Foreman’s voice was dripping with menace. One of the goons rifled through Robert’s wallet, pulling out his various IDs, cards, and other personal items and tossing them onto a nearby table. “And what brings a man like you to my humble place of business?”

Foreman was enjoying himself, leaning without care against one of the tables as if he were talking shop with a colleague at a cocktail party rather than interrogating an intruder and suspect. However, Robert was less amused and could feel the sweat beading on his forehead.

“Would you believe me if I said I was passing through?” Attempting to inject some humor into the tense situation. Foreman smiled, but there was a predatory glint in his eyes. He enjoyed toying with this trespassing stranger like a cat with a mouse.

“Admirable attempt,” Mr. Foreman said, shaking his head. “Let’s see what our little computer says about you.” He gestured to the other goon, who tapped away on a keyboard as if it offended him and his mother. They had set the computer upon some boxes as a makeshift table. Foreman wiped his hands on a cloth and sprayed them with a clear liquid from a bottle in his pocket.

“Can’t wait,” he said, almost rolling his eyes but catching himself before anyone spotted it, he hoped. The room fell silent for a moment, save for the click-clack of keys and the hum of the computer’s fan. Despite his danger, Robert found the silence comforting. It was almost as if it was shielding him from the harsh reality of his predicament, like a cozy blanket thrown over a ticking time bomb.

“Alright,” Mr. Foreman said, his gaze locked on the computer screen. “You are who you say you are. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“Like I said,” Robert said, his voice wavering and hoping no one would catch it. “I was just passing through. I was heading to the spaceport, and your ‘stop’ signal made it so my rented van wouldn’t pass. I didn’t realize this place existed until I stumbled upon it.”

“Stumbled upon it?” Foreman raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Believe what you want,” Robert countered, trying to maintain control. “But I have no reason to lie.”

“Perhaps not,” the gangster conceded, stroking his mustache, a thoughtful expression plastered across his face. “And yet, here you are, deep within the bowels of our… operation. It’s hard to believe that’s a coincidence.”

“Trust me,” Robert retorted, “if I’d known what I was getting myself into, I’d be talking to an AI about her comedy routine in a rented van.”

“You’re a funny man, Rob,” Mr. Foreman said with a chuckle. “But let’s be serious for a moment. If you’re not a cop or one of Derbyshire’s men, what are you?”

Robert ran a hand through his messy brown hair while sighing. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m just a guy who made a wrong turn at the wrong time. Can’t I go about my day and pretend this never happened?”

“It’s not that simple,” Mr. Foreman said, his face darkened without pretense. “We can’t risk letting you go and having you rat us out to the authorities.”

“Rat you out?” Robert scoffed, his fear forgotten for a moment in his indignation. “Do I look like the kind of guy who goes around ratting people out? Besides, I don’t even know what I would be ratting you out for!”

“Even if you’re telling the truth,” Foreman ignored Robert’s outburst, “we still can’t let you go.”

“Outstanding.” He wanted to stop antagonizing the man, but his nerves were getting the better of him.

Mr. Foreman sighed, his demeanor sliding into a salesman’s pitch. “I’ll buy your story for now. We’ll turn off the signal and let you go about your day.”

“Really? Just like that?” Robert’s tone was incredulous but relieved.

“Of course, there’s one small catch,” Mr. Foreman said with a sly smile.

“Of course there is.”

“Look, you’ve displayed some impressive qualities since you arrived here.” Mr. Foreman took on a knowing posture, pacing back and forth as he spoke. He gestured to the man on the computer as if the goon had been researching Robert. “You’re cool under pressure, resourceful, and I understand you’re an excellent shot.”

“Who told you that?” Robert’s voice fluttered with genuine curiosity. It wasn’t like he had ever been known for anything. He wondered how the gangster had any details about his life.

Mr. Foreman waved the question away. “The point is, we could use someone like you in our organization. So, instead of ‘just’ letting you walk out of here, how about you join us?”

Foreman’s operation was somewhat known to everyone in Bethada. He was suspected of running illegal activities, but nobody could prove it. Robert had heard whispers about the man and had kept his distance from him.

Joining a criminal organization was not something that Robert had ever considered. He blinked at the unexpected proposal, at a loss for words. His mind raced as he figured out the best way to handle the situation. He settled on a plan. He didn’t think it was a good plan, but a plan it was.

“Thanks for the offer, Mr. Foreman,” Robert drawled, feigning interest. “Mind if I think it over for a bit?”

“Take your time,” Mr. Foreman said, a predatory grin spreading across his face. “We’ve got all day.”

As the criminals sauntered out of the room, leaving Robert to mull over their proposal, he knew that time was of the essence. He scanned his surroundings, noting the dark corridors and echoing footsteps that signaled the presence of guards.

Robert racked his brain for an escape plan. His eyes darted from one corner of the room to another until they landed on a ventilation grate near the ceiling. With a smirk, he realized it was large enough to squeeze through.

“Maybe I’m not too lanky after all,” he quipped, dragging a table beneath the grate, attempting to be quiet, and climbing atop it.

Robert pried the grate open with surprising ease and hoisted himself into the vent, ignoring his back and shoulder pain. He crawled along the narrow passage, guided by the dim glow of emergency lighting and the distant hum of machinery.

“This reminds me of that ancient movie Pete had me watch. That poor guy didn’t have shoes, though. So at least I got that going for me,” he thought, suppressing laughter and panic as he navigated the twists and turns of the facility’s ventilation system.

Adrenaline rushed through him as he approached a junction in the vents. Peering through the slats, he spotted a pair of guards stationed outside a door he recognized from his earlier exploration.

Robert grumbled, cursing his luck. They had increased security measures while he was gallivanting around and having that pleasant discussion with the crime boss. He considered his options, weighing the risks of backtracking or attempting to outwit the guards.

He pressed his back against the vent’s wall and tried to make himself as flat as possible to avoid detection. As he peered at the guards through the slits in the grate, Robert felt a bead of sweat slide down his forehead. His breathing quickened as one of them glanced up briefly, making Robert’s heart race before they turned away again.

Robert exhaled with relief and scrambled until he was above a door he remembered walking through.

“Here goes nothing,” he announced, swinging down from the vent with a grace that would have made any gymnast cringe. The jacket muffled the sound of his landing as he crouched behind a stack of crates, out of view of the guards.

“Hey, did you hear something?” One guard’s voice filled with uncertainty.

“Probably a rat,” the other said dismissively, glancing in Robert’s direction. “This place is crawling with them.”

Robert thought about how bad the rat infestation must be if everyone here kept blaming rats for random noises throughout the building. He waited for the guards to resume their conversation before slipping past them, staying low and silent as he retraced his steps through the facility.

The tension mounted with each turn, each narrow escape from detection fueling Robert’s determination to flee this wretched place. The entrance loomed ahead like a beacon of hope as he reached the last stretch.

“Almost there,” he encouraged himself, his pulse racing with anticipation. But as he rounded the last corner, he froze in his tracks, hope sinking as he realized that freedom was still out of reach.

He scanned the area in an attempt to formulate a plan, looking for any potential escape route. His foot knocked over an empty can, sending it clattering across the floor loud enough that a rat couldn’t make the noise.

“Hey! He’s over there!” A guard sounded the alarm as he rounded the corner, spotting Robert. With no time to lose, Robert sprinted in the opposite direction, desperate to put distance between himself and the thug.

“Stop him!” Another smuggler joined the pursuit. Panicked shouts echoed through the grimy halls as more criminals entered the chase, their footsteps pounding like war drums behind Robert.

Robert thought it was a bit funny to have a parade of thugs chasing him and he rolled his eyes at the absurdity of his predicament, even as fear coursed through his veins.

“Split up! We’ll corner him!” Another voice came from behind him, forcing Robert to zigzag through the labyrinthine facility. Every turn felt like a gamble, each decision a die roll that could lead to freedom or capture.

Robert grumbled about not having a map when he needed one as he skidded around a corner, avoiding a collision with another guard. The adrenaline amplified his senses and caused his armpit to sweat.

“Where’d he go?” A voice came from steps behind Robert. He could almost feel the man’s hot breath on his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

“Over here!” Another voice joined the chorus, forcing Robert to change direction again. Sweat trickled down his face, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision, but he couldn’t afford to slow down. Escape was tantalizingly close; he had to keep moving.

He pleaded to whatever gods may exist to find the exit, hoping every turn brought him closer to salvation. His thoughts were a frenzied prayer as he ducked under a low-hanging pipe and scrambled up a steep incline.

The smugglers cursed; their frustration was palpable as he evaded them and in their building. But Robert knew relief was temporary; they’d regroup and continue their hunt soon enough.

“Alright, Robert,” he said, his mind racing for a solution. “Time to get creative.”

He spotted a cluttered storage room ahead with shelves filled with various mechanical parts and tools. An idea sparked in his mind, and he dove into the room, slamming the door shut and wedging a metal pipe under the handle to buy some time.

“Where the hell did he go?” Frustration was evident in the voice.

In the storage room, Robert surveyed his surroundings, searching for something that could aid in his escape. He noticed an old, dusty fire extinguisher hanging on the wall and couldn’t suppress a grin.

He whispered incoherent gibberish as he grabbed the extinguisher and hid behind a shelf. Robert prepared himself for the chaos as the door rattled under the smugglers’ attempts to break in.

“Three…two…one…” he counted, anticipation thrumming through his veins like an electrical current as he tried to time his attack with the entry of the gang members.

With a last shove, the smugglers burst into the room, weapons raised and ready to fire. But before they could even register what was happening, Robert unleashed the full force of the fire extinguisher, filling the room with a thick, choking fog.

“Damn it!” one smuggler coughed, swiping at the air in a futile attempt to clear his vision.

“Where is he?!” The hiss of the extinguisher almost drowned out the voice.

Robert felt the light scrape on his leg, and the sound of gunfire filled the air. The sensation traveled up the back of his thigh to rest like a weight behind his knee, painful to the point that it gave him a limp.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Robert darted past the disoriented criminals, clutching the now-empty fire extinguisher like a lifeline. He sprinted down the corridor, his lungs burning and legs threatening to give out beneath him. But he couldn’t stop, not yet.

“Should’ve sprung for the deluxe membership at the gym, or at least gone to a gym,” he panted, cursing his lack of stamina as he rounded a corner and missed a collision with another guard by a hair.

“Got you now!” the guard snarled, lunging for Robert with a fierce determination, missing him with little room to spare. Robert used the fire extinguisher to hit the guard over the head as hard as he could and tossed the emergency equipment aside. The criminal crumpled onto the floor.

Robert barreled toward his destination, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The facility stretched on forever, a labyrinth of identical doors and flickering lights that offered little hope of escape. But there was no time for despair, not with the sounds of angry smugglers echoing through the halls behind him.

“Mr. Fannec, I really must insist that you reconsider your actions,” Mr. Foreman’s smug voice came out from the shadows over the overhead speakers, causing Robert to grind his teeth in irritation.

“Keep insisting, pal, but it ain’t happening,” Robert said as he skidded around another corner, his sneakers squeaking against the cold concrete floor.

A sudden burst of fresh air hit Robert’s face like a slap, and he realized he’d stumbled upon an exit. Seizing the opportunity, he sprinted towards the door, flinging it open and tumbling into the day.

“Ha! Take that, you goons!” he crowed, scrambling to his feet and scanning his surroundings for any sign of pursuit. He had lost them, at least for now.

As he stood there, panting and drenched in sweat, Robert felt a surge of exhilaration at his daring escape. But alongside that adrenaline-fueled pride came the creeping dread that this wasn’t over yet. He was uncertain that the smugglers, who had a reputation for being persistent, would forgive him for escaping their grasp.

“This is what I get for trying to take control of the situation.” He scratched the nape of his neck as he gazed into the desert with a rueful expression. “Next time, I’m waiting in the van.”

Despite the lingering threat of capture, Robert cracked a small, weary smile. He could put enough distance between himself and the facility before they realized he was gone.

“Alright, time to get moving.”

As Robert began to jog around and away from the ominous buildings, he couldn’t shake the feeling that danger still lurked around every corner. And while he may have escaped the clutches of Mr. Foreman and his goons for now, there were still countless unanswered questions in his mind.

Robert realized they had all his information, including his real name, address, and UC Number. They could easily track him down if they wanted to find him, and he cursed himself for getting involved.

“Well… shit.”