If he'd had his rats with him, he'd have a different strategy entirely for this particular room. They were surely strong enough to bring back whatever token this area had. They weren't so sadistic to make people carry back a 10 pound sprocket, were they? He was glad he didn't say that out loud to give these assholes any ideas.
Rat negotiated the room one step, one gear, one chain reaction of movement at a time. Being so light on his feet meant sometimes he didn't even set off any movement. But his luck was about to change. He was presented with a massive gear, and he had two options: he could ride it up and over the top, or scurry under it like the rodent he was. Crouching, he could see under it that the pavilion was just there. But he couldn't see well enough to know what waited for him up above. A known risk was preferable to an unknown one. There wasn't much space, but he was quite sure he could fit. Especially if he timed it so that he was between the teeth.
So down on his belly he went. The machete was held in a backward grip so that it pointed out in front of him as he pulled himself forward on his elbows. He waited a moment to assess the timing, and scrambled in as quickly as he could once he had what he wanted.
Halfway along he curled his legs in as the teeth of the gear came swinging down behind him, out of the way just in time.
But he hadn't anticipated a small clump of tiny gears whirring away just on the other side. They bit into his hair and as soon as he felt the tug he knew what he had to do. He reached up to check how much distance he had. That was a mistake. The gears caught a couple of his fingers and by the time he got them free they were gone to the first knuckle. And he had no choice but to take the chance. He swung the machete behind his head, as close to himself as he could. If he knicked himself, it wouldn't matter as long as he didn't get chewed up.
He felt the tug release, and he rolled forward. He looked back just in time to see his deep blue hair, attached to a chunk of skin and blood, disappear into the tiny whirling gears. Some of his hair, still attached at the perimeter of his hairline, hung lankly around his head. It stung where some fell into where he'd scalped himself. His hand ached, and he was sure it was adrenaline that kept it from hurting worse. He could tend to his wounds after he made sure he was alone for now.
He wasn't. But they weren't a likely threat. "Hawkeye. I never get to see you when I'm at my best." Somehow a smirk made it onto his face, despite everything.
Squeak squeak
Rat negotiated the room one step, one gear, one chain reaction of movement at a time. Being so light on his feet meant sometimes he didn't even set off any movement. But his luck was about to change. He was presented with a massive gear, and he had two options: he could ride it up and over the top, or scurry under it like the rodent he was. Crouching, he could see under it that the pavilion was just there. But he couldn't see well enough to know what waited for him up above. A known risk was preferable to an unknown one. There wasn't much space, but he was quite sure he could fit. Especially if he timed it so that he was between the teeth.
So down on his belly he went. The machete was held in a backward grip so that it pointed out in front of him as he pulled himself forward on his elbows. He waited a moment to assess the timing, and scrambled in as quickly as he could once he had what he wanted.
Halfway along he curled his legs in as the teeth of the gear came swinging down behind him, out of the way just in time.
But he hadn't anticipated a small clump of tiny gears whirring away just on the other side. They bit into his hair and as soon as he felt the tug he knew what he had to do. He reached up to check how much distance he had. That was a mistake. The gears caught a couple of his fingers and by the time he got them free they were gone to the first knuckle. And he had no choice but to take the chance. He swung the machete behind his head, as close to himself as he could. If he knicked himself, it wouldn't matter as long as he didn't get chewed up.
He felt the tug release, and he rolled forward. He looked back just in time to see his deep blue hair, attached to a chunk of skin and blood, disappear into the tiny whirling gears. Some of his hair, still attached at the perimeter of his hairline, hung lankly around his head. It stung where some fell into where he'd scalped himself. His hand ached, and he was sure it was adrenaline that kept it from hurting worse. He could tend to his wounds after he made sure he was alone for now.
He wasn't. But they weren't a likely threat. "Hawkeye. I never get to see you when I'm at my best." Somehow a smirk made it onto his face, despite everything.