The door opened slightly, and a tiny cylinder clattered into the room, no more than a finger's length or width. A line of lustre blinked as it rolled towards him, and Uari knew it was a countdown.
The door slammed behind it immediately.
While Uari didn't consciously know what to do, something in his soul hissed at him to take his shirt off. He wasn't about to protest, so he followed blindly while his brain desperately attempted to follow the flow of stunted logic in quick succession:
Knockout?— light? sound? gas?— not sound, hurts everyone— not light, not enough lustre— gas, it's gas— cover!
He fumbled, barely able to keep up, and shoved the tiny cylinder in one of the empty Lightspeed cans as the flickering of lustre increased and a click unlatched. Then, as gas began to leak out, he bundled it in his shirt and shoved it in his backpack before zipping it up. It wouldn't stop it, but it would slow the gas; in the end, gases and vapours could be significantly dampened by layers of cloth that served as filters.
It was lucky his backpack was mostly empty, anyway. Then, he gently placed the bag in the corner, dumped the two goons on top so they breathed all the leaking gas in for him, and waited all the way on the other side of the hut as he took a chance on this risk.
He sucked in air as much as he could as he crouched. When he thought he couldn't suck in any more with that breath, he added on a few more short, sharp inhales and began to hold his breath - literally and figuratively. He closed his eyes and willed himself into a quick meditative space to lower any feelings of excitement, and therefore any oxygen intake.
Minutes passed, and as he slowly ran out of breath, he was forced to inhale from the air around him. It wouldn't do to take quick breaths - it could trigger his nervous system into thinking he was in a dangerous situation and therefore quicken his heartbeat and oxygen intake. Slow, moderate sips were all that were allowed if he wanted to optimise his chances of staying conscious.
More time passed, until Uari had begun to feel slightly dizzy despite his measured breathing. In the end, although he was able to reduce the intake of gas, he hadn't been able to avoid inhaling at least some. He felt slightly guilty for subjecting the two....staffers...to so much of the gas so close, but this was assuaged by some understanding that neither of them had previously liked him much anyway.
Plus, he was probably going to go up against them later. Comrades or not, it made sense to thin out the enemy.
The door opened a crack, and he carefully maintained his level of excitement, breathing, and heartbeat even as fresh air seeped in. He slumped against the wall and closed his eyes, extending his other senses to gauge what was happening.
There was a cautious shuffle of feet as the door grated open wider when there was no obvious assault on the person opening the door. Air flooded the room, and Uari spent a second relishing stale, un-poisoned air.
A pause, and then the footsteps began to approach him - slowly, at first, and then with more confidence as the person took in a lack of response from him. Unlike Glasses and Planthead (or was it Plantface?), these footsteps were quicker, and also lighter.
It was likely a slighter person, then, which might give him more leverage in terms of strength during combat. It might be a disadvantage for him when it came down to speed or agility.
Physically, that was. He couldn't know for sure what kind of abilities this new mystery person might have, or why they had been sent in the first place instead of someone else?
Were they an amazing fighter, or did they have some fancy ability he had to be careful of? Or did they perhaps send someone lighter to trick him into thinking it might be an opponent he could face?
Ha! He wasn't going to fall for that kind of nonsense. He would be wary as hell of whoever was coming, and would do his best to get the answers he wanted—
"Mommy?"
What??
"Mommy, wake up…"
Uari was having trouble staying still, wary that this could very well be a trick. He did not recall having a child, and he definitely didn't recall identifying as a mommy of all things. This was nonsense.
It was a trick. It was most definitely and obviously a trick!
The child started crying when he didn't move, a high-pitched set of sobs and hiccups interspersed with "mommy"s and "please wake up"s and then more "mommy"s. The crying was soft, as though the child didn't dare to make much noise, and despite his insistence that this was a trick, there was no way he could deny how the sound tore at his heart familiarly.
Old Uari knew this child. Old Uari had cared for this child, and no matter his opinions on standing his ground as New Uari, it didn't seem even remotely alright with him to just ignore her.
He cracked an eye open.
A tiny girl was kneeling in front of him, dressed in rags and knees scraping on the raw metal floor as she sobbed quietly. In the afternoon light streaming in from the door, he was able to make out filthy black hair and dark skin.
He didn't know if it was Old Uari or New Uari or just Uari in general, but he knew instinctively that he had to take her away. Whatever was happening here, he couldn't leave this child in these rags and in this filth. He couldn't leave her with these people. No matter his prior relations with them, they obviously hadn't taken care of her while he was gone.
If he was captured and was subjected to another wipe, he had almost no doubt that she would be thrown right back where she came from.
He needed to take the girl and leave. He needed answers, but right now his heart was in his throat and his mouth was dry, dry, dry and he needed to leave with his child in tow.