Correctional Facility: Break Out

[Bastille Amtrum]

Bastille never skidded to a stop. She continued head long into the others. She was determined to ram her own hard shoulder/ head into their guts. And she planned to make contact, now weather it worked or not she managed to skid her food and flip back to her group. She was crouched on the ground like an offensive lion read to strike and her qi erupted around her…the ability itself of the qi was unknown to Bastille herself…and the reason is manifested a lion was also unknown…maybe just perks to show Bastilles personality or what not but it was there. The lion manifested as she stood up and her eyes flamed with a new ferocity. Hotly her sword pointed up at them in an ongaurd stance and she let a growl rip through her chest.

“Move, or your lives will be forfeited” she shot out frostily.

Many impacts upon her body had happened tonight, but now her body was moved by emotion, and emotion summoned new powers. She felt she could fight and army despite her fever still being somewhat present and the damage her body has still received. Her main priority was that child…his fate should not be decided here. Bastille hated nostalgia at times, but it was at this time she remembered her fencing instructor. A French men who’s name she could and would never be able to pronounce…but his heart she would forever remember. The heart of a knight…something the world had for long, not seen, and had beyond long forgotten. She felt the same pride insider her, and she knew it was only because she knew she was doing something good and meaningful.

This was no time to be having an inner monologue but Bastille knew her job as the observer would at times have to be changed to the role of a soldier. She would fight with the old kind of glory and honor she had wished for in a modern society…there in that emotion lied the charisma to keep her standing. She would not give up until the last enemy fell. She would also give up humanity at this time…if it meant providing a future for the kid. She couldn’t explain the emotions she had,…but they where there…and they where strong enough to drive her. She didn’t turn to her partners as she spoke.

“there are three of us….that one man in the middle…can move things im not sure how…and he’s the only one ive seen thus far…lets take this down with a bang shall we..”

Irony. they got a bang, though not from them. Debris collapsed and suddenly Bastille pressed herself against as wall. Her eyes still keen on her targets she took a small step back to the middle of the hall…the ceiling could tumble but she would be ready for it, and for anything. She braced herself for the fight.

[Reverend (Dots) Teyfour]

Twich...

I sensed something weird, familiar, but not right… The Rush was boiling up within my soul… our souls… Breathing in the air I felt the familiar aura, my mind focused in on the man shadowed in the hall ahead of me, I knew him, or at least I one did…. Pound, Pound, Pound, the hellish drums shattered all my control… as I my mind finally grasped the name… the identity of this once man, this now unholy being, it was… Pound, Pound, Pound….

All control was gone now was time for another death another toast of wine, to hell….. The Rush now took over our body, The Pure wolfen instincts of Pwo… were in control this thing was not my once friend it must die it must suffer… I must prove my strength, leaping it the air the rush sent my Qi flying in to full power, throwing my momentum I sent my body in to a midair spinning back kick, aiming the mockery of nature’s head.
It hit me at this moment a vision, I was once again in the Body of Pwo and standing before me was the old man…. I know understood the true strength of the rush was learning to control it. well control was beyond me now my aura was flaming so bright all could see its yellow light…
Stats with shenkitrai (Advanced)

Strength: 100
Dexterity: 80
Constitution: 4
Wisdom: 21.6
Intelligence: 16
Charisma: 17



+90% Pain inhancer: no Aura used for tolerance.

[Sean Barker]

The lights would go out for a second and the red emergency lights would flicker on and turn the place into a completely new enviornment.

(-10 Wis for everyone.)

[The New Student Dean]

The End Begins

The lack of light was just the beginning.

...Soon, gas would follow through.

Along with explosions.

The entire place had been wired to explode, from top-to-bottom. To try and seal the experiments from the bottom from ever reaching the surface.

Even Das "Feuer" Mann, the Angsar Brothers, and the parking lot outside would find itself under the intoxication of sleeping gas, explosions erupting from the blacktop. All of the Enforcers, strangely enough, were hit especially hard. Even the captured Roland.

...But while the sleeping gas and explosions continued...

...

Moderator Instruction: All participants. You are to make one last post, before you either get knocked out by debris or the sleeping gas takes effect.

Afterward... the conclusion, and then, the long-awaited aftermath.

[Masaru]

The two groups made, they waited as the fiery thing flew past them. That was odd, the entity that had flew past them seemed to be a human, perhaps a person? Ah well, that was not of importance, for that angry thing flew past them before they could react. Masaru's group came out of their cell, along with the other group on the other side of the hallway. Both groups awaited orders. Masaru looked behind them at the guy(?) flying through the hallways. He shrugged, and said to them:

"Lets get going, that man is of no importance, our main objective is to free the other prisoners."

They continued searching each cell in the hallway, making sure they didn't miss anything, if anything was found, it would be pocketed for use against the enemy. Little did they know they were slowly heading for the exit. Masaru made a small two line formation, each side of the line were to search the cells they passed on their side, and keep anything useful to use against any enemies.

Ever on the alert, Masaru glimpsed back and viewed the madness behind him. The crowd that had been fighting now were fighting a two front war, the flaming man now in the mix, and he seemed to easily overpower everything in his way. This was seen from far away, and Masaru couldn't really see anything in particular other than it looked like the mob was losing.

The lights flickered off for a moment. In the darkness, Masaru was fine, for he knew that he was in a hallway, and there were only two ways to go. The direction he was facing was towards the battle, where screams and shouts could still be heard. Masaru then changed direction to where he was heading. Up ahead a light could be seen.

"Damn it! Stay where you are!"

Masaru ordered his small force. That was disappointing... It seems instead of heading deeper in the Correctional Facility to save prisoners, they were slowly heading to safety. Red lights flickered on, slightly blinding Masaru for several moments. Once his eyes adjusted, he looked around. Under this light, Masaru could see the true face of this Correctional Facility. It looked like the walls all around were stained with blood of prisoners, thinking about all those sacrificed for science appalled Masaru.

This experience gave Masaru some wisdom though. One should not avoid or ignore violence, for that does not stop the problem. Appeasement didn't work in WWII, so why should he resort to it in this day and age? The only way to stop long term violence, he mused, was to crush it with intense violence right off the bat. From now on, Masaru wouldn't avoid fights, oh no. He would actually start fights with anyone who were even slightly violent. If he is capable of it, he may even try to make it so they can't fight for the rest of their lives.

Back to the present, there were some things Masaru would have to think over. Perhaps the light at the end of the hallway wasn't actually an exit, but the entrance to a new level? He already started heading this way, and hesitation is not a sign of a good leader. Even if you are going the wrong direction, you might as well either admit you are wrong and head the right way, or continue going in your direction for the greater good. It wouldn't be such a bad fate to escape here and now anyways.

"The lights are back up, lets continue searching the cells while making our way down this hallway."

Masaru ordered his group. They continued down the hallway, searching each cell. Sometimes they found someone, sometimes that person was no longer among the living. As they made thier way down the Hallway, some of their group began to fall over. Perhaps from exhaustion? Masaru never left a man behind, each member began to drag another down the hallway. Eventually explosions could be heard in the distance. They increased their pace, frantically trying to go to the next level before this one fell down on them.

Eventually Masaru was the only one conscious. By the time he realized it, it was already too late. The whole hallway was filled with some sort of sleeping gas. The only reason Masaru lasted longer than the others is he has built up a resistance to these sorts of things. That didn't mean he was immune, though. His feet dragged down the hallway, arms limp. Eventually he fell over, but he continued onward.

Dragging himself down the hallway, Masaru finally reached the steps to the next level, only to find sleeping guards on the stairs, and a large blue sky looking down at him from the exit. As Masaru drifted off into unconsciousness, a light smile played on his lips. Fate must have wanted him to live. If he went deeper into the Correctional facility, the chances of the upper floor falling on him from the explosions was higher, and he may not have survived, but here, near the exit. Unconscious, he had a better chance to live. He only hoped the rest of the prisoners were alive and well, for deeper in the building, things may have gotten more hectic...

[seishounohana]

Emily was going in circles, or at least she thought she was going. The rumbling had stopped around 4 turns ago, and she was more or less getting worried that she might be lost at such a bad time.

God, and she always had thought she was good with directions.

Running across the halls, she heard several explosions echoing from the Empty hallways. Dammit. This place sounds like it was going to explode any minute.

No! She couldn't die here!

No!

Just no!

Racing forward, Emily would not stop for anything. Adrenaline was her best friend right now, and was relying on the guidance of her "woman's intuition" to get outside. Of course, considering that she had absolutely no idea where she was going, or where these paths led to, she was actually making progress.

"Hello!? ANYONE?!" She shouted out on the lonely hallways, still running.

No answer.

"Anyo- Ah!" She tripped over a man, felled somehow. Does this mean she was closer to the exit? Oh, joy! but not quite. The air smelled funny and she was starting to feel a bit drowsy.

"Dammit, sleeping gas..." She noted, slapping herself flat across the face twice and resuming her run. But no, that huff of dangerous fumes was pulling her to sleep. She began slowing down, and her eyes slowly lost their sight.

Looking to the left, she saw a bright light then---

*BOOM*

She was hit by an explosion. Though not directly, she was put to sleep with a hit on the head onto the nearby wall. There she bled, waiting for rescue once again.

Rescue in a building that could collapse any minute now.

[Roland]

NO!

I grunt out this syllable with great effort against the puppetman's control, and I throw myself forward fully into the realm of consciousness, hurling my will against the grip of his strings of Qi. I would not stand by and be a tool to be used in battle against my friends and allies. My finger twitches. it's not much but it is enough to give me hope, and I redouble my efforts.

Frantically I search for handholds, any weaknesses in his control I can get my fingers under and pry at. Suddenly I remember the things I had felt when fighting the enforcers...that which the scientists had called Qi...it seems so long ago and yet so recent...it's hard to describe.

I haphazardly jam my mental arm into my mental filing cabinets, feeling around for that feeling again. Under the flotsam and jetsam of life's fripperies, I come across its shape, but when I grasp at it something peculiar happens.

I find myself in a square room with a simple chair in the middle of its plain floor. The walls are lined with countless clocks, in whose glassy faces I can see reality reflected. Here I am, what do I do!? In a panic I grab the chair and hurl it against a wall of clocks. There is a great flash, and a shower of glass and gears pour into the room like a flood from a burst pipe, and I begin to drown. The door back to reality closes off, but through the last crack I hear the echo of a jarring scream of pain and fear...not my own scream, perhaps the puppet man's.... My last conscious thought is that I hope that fool suffers.

Now I dream.

---

Clear skies and a friendly sun smile down on a beach of white sand. The brilliant blue-green water kisses the shore in gentle swells and lulls. Not far from the shore, the beach gives way to a courtyard of white flagstones, lined by crumbling pillars of bleached stone. The pillars, like the supports to some long-abandoned Parthenon, leave surprisingly little shadow, and up from the cracks at their bases grow a few wisps of tan beach grass that wave lazily in a gentle breeze.

Paradise.

A short distance inland, there is a line. Beyond it, sand and sun-washed stone gives way to


concrete and ash.


A sickly grey-yellow and red sky threatens the earth below with the rumblings of a great storm, and forks of red and blue lightning play across the faces of massive thunderheads, between whose hovering bulks a hostile sun stabs down with yellow haze. Below, a great faultline has ripped a city asunder, turning what was once a metropolis into a wasteland of industry and violence. Atop a cliff formed by the shifting techtonic plates sits a stalwart parking garage, defying the sky from on high like a castle of old. With its stained, blackened concrete and mosaic views of the vivid desolation above and below, it stands as a cathedral to the twisted religion of hate, death, and despair.

Hell.

There is a disturbance in the water of the paradise. Walking up the gradual slope of clean white sand, a man's figure emerges from the aqua depths to stand on the beach with sand and water between his toes and the wind in his aqua eyes. His golden hair and tan skin glow in the sun.

On the hellish side of the island, there is a great burst of red lighning that drops from the forboding heavens at an angle. it strikes home just inside one of the parking garage's open sides, smearing the grimy concrete with a great black char and the stink of raw electricity. Of its own accord, the dust and ash begin to assemble themselves, and coalesce into the form of a man. Shadows hang from him like a cloak, and beneath his fierce brow are blank, pupil-less white eyes, sharp and angry and luminous.

The two figures eye each other across the line between light and dark, one sad one angry. They conversed then at great length, but not in words the way you and I might; after all, when one mind speaks to itself it understands itself naturally, on levels of emotions and intentions. A simple gesture becomes a long-winded speech, and a complete sentence itself is a matter of the most meticulous redundancy. However, for the sake of informing the reader, I will attempt to approximate a portion of that conversation using language alone, though any such attempt is of course doomed to inaccuracy and incompletion.

...and even induction is a faith. You can only prove its infallibility through further induction, which is paradoxical by its own laws. Any faith some street preacher constructs is as strong as what you can dish out

In a universe where the ratio of available uncertainty to certainty is infinitely small, how can you hope to make any decision and know it's right before gaining at least what knowledge can be gained?

If the the amount of available knowledge approaches zero as scale approaches infinity, then it makes no difference what one knows or doesn't know; decisions will always be made based on extrapolations from incomplete data.

Is that your excuse? Is that how you rationalize our existence as worthwhile? Because you believe we can make no correct decisions without all knowledge, we make NO decisions, and remain in a state of uselessness.

What right do we have to judge what makes an existence worthwhile or valid? By what authority do we dictate what actions and decisions constitute a path through life that is deserving of merit?

If not us, then who else? If anyone has the perspective necessary to judge the worth of our life, it is we ourselves!

It went on this way indefinitely, both before and after this brief exerpt. However, as it is with all such confrontations, it came to passing blows in the end. In the light-man's hands, there materialized a harsh white light which took the shape of a mightly ladder that burned one's eyes, and the dark-man's hands spawned a red-white light that formed a pair of mighty hookswords that crackled with red lightning. In the battle, the sandy pillars were toppled and the concrete structure was smashed, and a great cloud of chaos and ruin rose about them, blotting out sun and storm alike.

The sea drained itself, the city below the cliff dropped away, and all that remained was the divided island in a vast abyss neither dark nor light. The island begins to shrink into the distance, slowly at first but with increasing rapidity, until the flashes of battle are pinpricks in the distance, and all else is a nothingness with no color, like clear glass.

The glass shatters -

---

Roland abruptly regains consciousness. He totters jerkily to his hands and knees, and vomits on the cracked floor as a wave of nausea and weakness strike him. Detatchedly, Roland observes a peculiarity about his left hand...a glove he had never seen before enclosed it. ...Puppetman's... echoes a stray thought that drifts across the shattered landscape of his mind. How did that get there...it seemed to have some sort of neural lace as a part of its construction...

But further speculation on that point is interrupted by the tangy scent of blood that invades Roland's observational capacities. He lifts his head painfully, and gawks in shock and horror at what he sees. There is blood...everywhere...and the barely recognizeable form of a body reclines disjointedly amongst chunks of floor and ceiling that were now strewn about the area...what in the world...

Then, memories flooded back. Of the fight with the enforcers, of capture...of the fight in the white room...then of endless drugs and tests and chemicals and...fights...many fights. Fights in which he had been forced to...do things to people, horrible things. He tasted flesh, and retched again.

This was the last straw for Roland's mind. He collapses into the vomit on the floor and curls up. Thoughts of rescue, or of anything at all for that matter, are far from him; the only thing his brain knows is the desperate task of blocking out memories of horrors all too real. And so there he remains, completely still, as the building begins to shake itself to rubble around him.