S1 ep 13: Hideout infiltration!

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Well, there went their element of surprise. For hours he'd paced mindlessly around the captain's quarters while the chef was whining about being 'doomed'. Sparks, as usual, didn't seem the least bit bothered, but at least they were being quiet.

"We got nothin', nothin' I tell ya!" The chef raved while Hank looked around the room for anything he could use to barricade the door, should it come to that. So far he had a couple chairs.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Aren't you scared?" The chef asked, sounding like he was on the verge of madness. Hank just shrugged. Sure being caught wasn't ideal, but what were they going to do after that? Talk him to death?

The pounding of feet on stairs started coming closer, and Hank flinched as he realised what that meant. Pulling the chairs over he began trying to prop them stably against the door. It had all gone well, until the door was actively being forced open. With not many other options, he pressed himself against the door, along with Sparks, who had finally decided to do something.

"Hey, let us in!" A muffled, familiar voice came from the other side. Sighing, Hank stepped away, letting the two idiots barge in, before tripping on the chairs.

"Oh, thank god! Where were you?!" Deimos asked, scrambling to his feet brushing himself off.

"Around." Daz walked in after them, looking around in confusion at the amount of knocked over chairs and Sanford, who had yet to get up from the floor.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" After closing the door, Deimos began replacing the chairs.

"It means I've been around." Hank said dryly, walking around the hole to sit on the bed, "and watch your step."

As he walked over, he could see Sanford mouthing 'what the fuck' as he stared at the gaping hole in the floor.

"So, you got away." Hank pointed out, hoping someone would tell him how. Only after did he realise the expectation was stupid, since he didn't even ask a question.

"Uh-huh. Your little frog came and cut our ropes loose." Deimos explained, still attempting, and mostly failing, to build a barricade.

"Hey, who's he?" Sanford pointed to the chef, who was pale and looking around in shock.

"A chef." Sanford just looked at him for a moment, before shrugging.

"Is he useful at all?" Hank just shrugged.

"He has a Heatmor, that got us around the ship." Looking back at the hole, he sighed at a realisation. "But I don't think it'll be long until they figure that out."

"What have you been doing this whole time anyway? Sleeping on that big ass bed?" Deimos asked bitterly from the newly-barricaded door.

"No, I didn't." Hank shot a look at Sparks, who just yawned in response.

"... We went to the mail rooms. Thought we might find whatever they wanted before they did.." The chef finally piped up, and Hank sighed quietly in relief. At least he didn't have to talk anymore.

"And did you find anything?" Sanford asked, mildly intrigued. The chef half-heartedly shook his head.

"Not really. Just some flute." At the reminder, Hank looked around briefly before pointing out where he'd left it on a nearby desk.

"Weird." Deimos walked over, grabbing and inspecting it. "Looks like something from a myth."

At the comment, Deimos gave them a sly smile, "d'you think it'll kill me if I play it?"

"Don't." Sanford took the flute off Deimos, clutching it closely as Deimos looked on with disappointment.

A somewhat slimy mass touched his shoulder, and he flinched away slightly before realising Daz had put a hand on his shoulder.

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