Don't. Make. A. Sound
We grope in the dark
On one step there is the laser grid.
Flammenwerfers the next.
"You sure this is the way, Xolotl? Might as well turn on your flashlight"
The clashing metal cylinders whizz over our hair
"Don't want anyone waking up. Don't worry, I've got the floor plan memorized inside out."
Sweat has made a mucus cocoon on our skin.
"The Old man will be waiting."
"But he is."
Spotlights in the eyes
It strangles us against the cheap, plastic chair.
"I know what you need them for."
Flat eyes through the mask.
"Let's play a game."
What's up with this shell?
"I don't think he's gonna let us go."
He looks at me with those puppy eyes.
What do I have?
No drill. No tools.
I have my hands....and....
Ants secrete formic acid that can eat through the strongest exoskeletons.
We'll just put a tasty roach in there....
Let's make some music.
"He's not gonna let us go."
I wish I listened to you, brother.
There's no time to dodge the traps-we scramble.
He's laughing behind us!
Clasping hands, those grasping hands
Brush my ankles
We're almost out.
Is that a parrot!?
Fingers turn to claws
Claws in the dirt
There's one last window.
"The bones of the last Neanderthal."
"I know. I'll do what I can."
I smile, look into the warm soup of the incubator.
"He won't be perfect."
"But he will live."