Targent.

I feel as if I should have seen this coming. The discovery was so obviously of Azran origin, and the dig was already well known enough that my fellow students and I were invited to try our hand at deciphering the runes on some of the artifacts. It was only a matter of time before Targent showed up. Stupid, stupid, Stupid!

As the guard leads me down a narrow hallway leading to God-knows-where - and God knows, I don't particularly want to know where - I realize that my chances of escape are diminishing at a rather alarming rate. I haven't seen the rest of my group ever since I lost consciousness at the excavation sight - I could have taken them, if the one hadn't hit me upside the head with his blasted gun! - and I woke up in one of their tanks. They've only brought me to this place because they want to interrogate me about the ruins, no doubt, and Targent doesn't have a history of letting people go after they have taken them away.

That, I know from firsthand experience.

No. They will not take me. Not like they took my parents. I must find a way out, I must endure. I must return to the Sycamores, to my Mary…

"Keep walking!" my guard - a slow witted bumpkin who seems to depend less ont he mind and more on muscle - bellows as he shoves me forward. I grimace. He's done this every time I've slowed down, which denotes a sense of urgency. Wherever he is taking me, he wants to get there quickly, probably so that I don't have a chance to escape.

But I'll be damned if I'm going to let Targent get any information about the Azran from me. No, these are the very people I've dedicated my life to destroying. The people I have vowed to burn - every last one, right down to the last man - so that my family can rise again from the ashes. I'm just not ready yet. It's too soon to be here, and I have to get out…

My window of opportunity is closing. It makes logical sense to assume that an interrogation will be the first that I will undergo at the hands of Targent. They will do whatever is necessary to get whatever information about the Azran that they can from me, whether that be through coercion or brute force. That is, that would be the procedure under normal circumstances.

God only knows what will happen once they realize I didn't leave the dig empty handed.

Desmond knew exactly what was happening when the tanks showed up. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking such a show of force. Targent was preparing to take the site.

But no. He couldn't let them take this from him. He wouldn't. Not when he had come so far, when he had so much to achieve...

"Blast!" He exclaimed, grabbing his notes and shoving them into his pocket. "We're going to have to run for it."

His companion glanced up at him quizzically, stroking his beard. "I'm sure there's no need for that! Whoever these people are, they are clearly not military. Notice the absence of a flag, or an insignia? They have no authority -"

"Dr. Schrader!" Desmond cut his companion off, grabbing the shorter man's shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. "I'm sorry, but there's really no time to explain. I know who they are, and they will take all of our work from us. We have to preserve what we can, and now."

The doctor stared at him for a moment, as though he was trying to fully absorb what he had just been told. "Please," Desmond urged him. "You're going to have to trust me."

At this, Schrader nodded curtly. "Right then. What do you propose we do?"

"We take what we can," Desmond replied simply, going back to work at pocketing his notes, "Then we run - myself going one way and you the other."

The doctor, who had begun cramming his own notes into his pockets, nodded his agreement. "Very well. And where am I running to?"

"The road." was the only reply Desmond could offer. "And from there, any way you can get back to Gressenheller."

As he spoke, the younger archaeologist made his way to the table where the artifact they had been studying was laid out. It was truly beautiful, a piece of the Ambrosian crest with a column of unknown text that, together, were believed to be the first key to unlocking the secrets of the Azran.

What a shame. he though, taking up a picaxe and cracking the artifact down the middle.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" he head Dr. Schrader's wounded shout. "this artifact is thousands of years old! Do you realize what you just-"

Desmond cut the doctor off by shoving the larger half of the artifact into his hands "We can't let them get away with both pieces. The consequences would be unimaginable." he explained shortly. "Now go!"

With one last questioning glance, Dr. Shrader tucked the artifact into his inner pocket. "Good luck, young man." he said as he turned away, breaking into a run and evacuating the site.

Stashing his own half of the artifact away, Desmond turned in the opposite direction from which Dr. Schrader had run and started hurrying through the site, so that he could make his escape. All around him were the worried faces of his comrades, all scurrying around as they eyed the tanks that were drawing nearer. He wished he had time to explain, time to comfort them, but he had precious cargo now, and he needed to escape…

As my guard and I proceed throughout Targent's base, I can feel the artifact pressed between my foot and my shoe. My notes, it would seem, were all taken from me upon my capture. The artifact is all that I have left from the excavation, and I must not let them take it from me as well. If Dr. Schrader is more fortunate than I, then we can still reconnect at Gressenheller and solve what we can of this mystery. There is still hope, as long as I protect this artifact.

But my window of opportunity is closing, and I must escape soon or not at all. If they get me to interrogation, I can't guarantee that I'll be able to hide my precious cargo any longer. They will find it, take it, and use it to unleash horrors upon this world…

We are about to round a corner, beyond which I am sure the questioning will begin. If I am going to do something, it has to be now.

My guard must notice me tense up, because he shoves me forward again. This time, however, I allow myself to fall forward, my cuffed hands catching my fall before I land on my face.

"P-please" I use my smallest, weakest voice, the one I would use to get sympathy when I lived on the streets. "I'm so t-tired, I can't…"

My guard gives an exasperated sigh as he comes forward to pull me up again. It's almost too easy to sweep his legs out from under him.

"Wha-?!" is the only exclamation I allow him to make. I am on my feet again while he is still trying to recover. From there, it's a simple matter of getting behind him wrapping the chains that bind my wrists around his neck. He blacks out after a minute's struggle.

Moral of the story: never pick a fight with the kid you forced onto the streets.

There is nowhere for me to hide the oaf along this hallway and dragging him along with me will only slow me down. My only choice is to leave him behind and backtrack through Targent's base alone. Before I leave him, I grab his too-large hat (and I thank God for my curls, otherwise the blasted thing would keep falling into my face) and slip on his jacket. If there was a mirror around here I would probably gag at my own appearance, but the guise is necessary. I have always been rather a good chameleon, when the need arises.

I start backtracking the way my guard brought me in.