A Growing Cancer (Crimson Blades: Part 2)

Previously.

For the first time ever within Jericho's mind, the voices were all completely silenced. It had brought him great pain, and he knew they were still there. They were always were. Probably always will be. . For years, they guided him. Or more, as he'd come to realize, he had been guiding himself. The manifestations of inner knowledge from an unknown source, had left him. No longer could he simply anticipate his next move, or the nature of his opponent. The medication they'd givened him silenced his mind. It had never been so clear.

A hospital. Oh how I loathe hospitals. It's like Bedlam all over. But with more handcuffs.

At first, it had been frightening. Not knowing what happens next? Not knowing when your opponent attacks? Not knowing if they have powers, let alone what they are. He'd never really been afraid before. He was always so sure of himself. Once he learned how to sift through the insanity? To master it and use it to one's advantage, were as another person with the same such ability simply ended up cornering in a corner? That had been Jericho's advantage. Until yesterday anyway. A little bit of prescribed medication and he was like others in many ways. Although a crucial difference, was that Jericho wasn't human. No matter what the DNA tests say. DNA didn't determine what you were.

The advantage of those tests however was that Jericho wasn't a mutant, or metahuman. As far as the doctors said, he was only a man with a diagnosis of an extremely severe case of schzioprenia and symptoms of psychopathy. And so, he got the same treatment. He was not restrained with some power dampening or magical dampening devices. As if Gothic city could afford such a thing. The prison was barely on it's last legs. Innmates with enough money literally walked out, and it was more used as a place to keep crazies and vigilantes. It was a joke. The police were just another gang, but what more they could do? The city was a no man's land. They either became corrupt, or watched families they had, kids they supported die. Watch their life crumble.

Gothic was a cancer, and Jericho knew, there were hardly many conventional cures to any cancer. A cancer can be treated in many ways, and one very common way. It would be better for the body ultimately.

"Uh, Mr. Hammond, you may want to see this." The nurse had said to the doctor, after reviewing his X-Ray. The explosion had killed numerous people and police officers, but Jericho just happened to be standing in just the right position to survive. Not too far to evade it entirely. But just the right distance to be put here. He had some internal bleeding, spinal and skull injuries from being tossed back into a car, and he was recovering well. However, the doctor's had found something, something odd.

A foreign object.

How it got there, it was a mystery, and they were still trying to gauge what the cylindrical object actually was. It was argued whether or not they could have a surgery, or if he even did indeed deserve it. They decided not to waste the money, decided that he would just have to live with it. If he died, he died, and that was that. It didn't matter what the books said. Not anymore.

And so, that night, Jericho woke up, looking at his hand. The hand can't come off. He needs it. So he'd better get started. They will soon return. His teeth went to work on the cuffs. For around 3 hours. Marks began to appear, and he decided was a good time to pull. He was weaker now, before, he could have simply broken the cuffs. But now, he had to weaken it first, however, a bit of leverage helped, and he was still stronger than many a hundred pounds heavier. The chains snapped and he was free. And with time to spare. He had to be quick.

Jericho moved about through the hallways seamlessly, having studied this prison years ago enough to know all of the blindspots of the camera sweeps. He didn't question why he told himself to do this all that time ago. He simply did it. He was able to reach an equipment room and scurry back to the room, where he'd lay in the bed and go to work.

The door opened as the nurse came in to check on the patient, seeing how he was doing. He was finer than she expected it seemed, considering he was standing right in front of the door about to walk out a soon as she entered. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Her throat felt, frozen. Jericho seemed to know this and took advantage of this, grabbing her and forcing her into the room as he'd shut the door behind himself, leaving only him and her.

Her eyes trailed down to what Jericho was holding, it looked to be the object picked up in the X-Ray, with large amounts of blood on his hands, blood that she had come to the conclusion was his. Crimson ran down his abdomen too, and stained his clothes. All over the bed too.

She trembled in fear at the psychopath. One who had taken much life, and killed. Who had Orphaned children. Who seemed to sporadically kill police, criminals and "ordinary" people alike. And yet, if he wanted to kill her. He would have. He hushed her, and instructed her very carefully. Her time was limited, and she only had so much time to escape before it was too late. Before it was to begin. He gave her time, and told her what to do, where to go. Where to hide until it's all over. Assuming this goes where he thinks it does. Whether or not she follows, is up to her. He walked out the room. His lean, toned arm clenching a small scalpel as an improvised weapon as he began to move once more.

I wonder where they put my face....

Maurice awoke in the prison hospital in a cold sweat, breathing heavily, and noticing his right arm in a cast, treated burn wounds all over his body, and his left arm attached to the bed via a pair of handcuffs. His thoughts were racing, as he realized that every crazy thing that had happened before was completely real. He actually did move to Gothic City, against all conventional wisdom. He actually did join a team of insane vigilantes. There actually was a pyromaniac, who killed himself to take out his team, and there actually was a psychotic pig-masked man who tried to take them down as well. And on top of all that, he was actually apprehended by S.W.A.T., though he wondered if they were clean or not in a town like this. He looked around the room he was in, to try to get a better idea of what was going on. No one was in the room with him, so he swung his legs out to the left side of the bed. Extremely awkwardly, he picked up a glass of water from the bedside table with his broken hand, and clumsily poured it onto his handcuffed left hand. With any luck, he would be able to slide his hand out of the cuffs. "Jackpot!" Maurice said, quietly, as his hand escaped from the cuffs. As quickly as the pain allowed him, he got up from the bed and went over to the door (which was not incredibly fast, but was still faster than getting out of bed in the morning), but didn't open it, seeing as a nurse was just outside the door, about to enter with a food cart. Maurice glanced back over to the table, and noticed a syringe. "Saved by Deus ex Machina." Maurice remarked. He took the syringe, and stumpled over to a curtain, which he hid behind. Maurice turned to see a little girl was on the other side in her own bed. He put his finger to his lips, indicating to the girl to be quiet. The nurse entered the room, and immediately was alarmed at Maurice's absence. Just as quickly as the door opened, the little girl screamed at the top of her lungs, to which Maurice reacted by placing his left hand, which held his syringe, over his ear. He also instinctively tried to cover his right ear, but stopped just as quickly, when his right arm began hurting badly. The nurse yanked the curtain open, to see Maurice, who quickly stabbed him in the shoulder with the syringe he'd conveniently acquired. However, much to Maurice's disliking, the syringe only held a pain killer, and not a sedative, as he'd thought. The nurse didn't take too kindly to Maurice's attempt to put him to sleep, and he threw a leftie at Maurice, which knocked him on the ground. Landing on his back by the girl's bed, Maurice grabbed one of the nurse's legs with his own legs, and pulled it towards himself, causing the nurse to fall as well. The nurse hit his head extremely hard on the ground, and was knocked out cold, giving Maurice an opportunity to get back to his feet, and run to the door on the girl's side of the curtain. He opened it, and immediately started running to his left, a direction he did not have logic behind, having been chosen randomly. He shoved past several nurses and doctors, who began to follow him as he ran down the hallway. He took a food cart from one of the nurses, and toppled it onto the ground to halt their progress, and he made it to an elevator. He was going to press the ground floor button, but thought "No, they'll be waiting for me there." Instead, he pressed the 2 button, and planned to run to an emergency stairwell when the elevator had descended to the second floor.

"You really need to side with some gang or another. This is perhaps the deadliest of jobs within the world. Be they caped crusader or masked criminal neither side has much trust in us. How many partners do you have to lose before that sinks in." Remarked her partner as the duo drove toward one of Gothic's prisons.

"It's disgusting how many of us bend over and take it up the ass if you ask me. To pass the exams we get drilled so damn hard. A casual officer has to be willing to kill, are meter watching ass hats could qualify for swat in another city. And still we get offed regularly, and not a lace is kept straight for all that work. How you and the rest of the gang of blues live with yourselves I'll never know." Liz remarked in the passenger seat loading her glock to pass the time.

"Oh spare me the righteous bull shit girl. Your no better how many brutality charges would be on your sweet ass if you worked somewhere else." A sharp turn and the prison was falling into sight rundown and decrepit like so much else around the city at large. "You know I hear the Carmine Bullies were being brought here. Believe The Swine was transferred here as well."

"Crimson Blades ass hole and it ain't note worthy. They lost one member already from what I hear. I'd put money on them dying in the prison, we've more dead wannabes then actual heroes. And it was Jericho, he's no joking matter." Liz corrected sliding the magazine into the glock and cocking the weapon.

"Right well here you are. I'll be over at the hospital near by scoring a deal and trying to tap a nurse." Sadly Liz could do nothing against her drug addicted partner. Who you were issued to work with in GCPD was who you were stuck with. That was until one of you died on duty by some hand or another. Often times a quote good unquote officer would be paired with a corrupt and vice versa. Those still with any valor tried to course the fowl back in line and those with hands in unsavory pockets didn't want the good gaining ground. It was both a civil war and balance struggle hard to maintain. And while the good were better skilled the bad were better informed.

Buckling her vest Liz approached the gate an officer snorting coke off a woman not permitted to be here greeting upon arrival. "Another one! Hot damn you lose friends like the whores lose teeth." Classy Liz thought with sarcasm and frustration. "You know the drill." With that Liz handed over a wad of money roughly amounting to a hundred dollars. Wiping a white smear from his nose with the cash Liz was treated with a hearty "thanks."

From there the officer moved into the prison and gradually made her way to the cells she desired. "Jay is he here?" Liz asked as she rounded an iron corridor and an iron door was opened to reveal countless rows of iron bars. The only pallet of color beyond gray was rustic or disgusting to describe.

"He is I really wish you'd stop this however. Your one of the good ones this kind of shit will eat at your core. Not to mention I'm not sure those pansies on infirmary can keep that masked obsessed psycho down." Jay was perhaps one of the most kind hearted and stern of the guards. She didn't resist other guards and officers but worried for them all. She'd never harm a convict without cause or to severity but never let their behavior slip.

"I know you do. Juarez was a good man however, he took my bullet. That shit stain deserves one in kind." Walking down the halls Liz ignored the cat calls and jeers. Until finally a face worth recognition came into view. Once there she leaned against a rail that squeaked and strained not wanting to hold any weight. The block fell silent curious to see where this would go. This was tonight's entertainment for most of them.

"Aww you came back. I knew I'd caught your eye but coming all this way?" She was met by a toothy smile, teeth yellow and sharpened. "If you really wanted to show affection though you'd strip and reveal a pentagram like mine." Pounding on the scar in pride the criminal was quite pleased with himself. To which Liz raised a finger as if to say "but first" and then gestured him to come closer. Rather then a lip lock though a barrel smacked into teeth knocking them free and causing an unsanitary gag.

"Juarez had two sons and a daughter. He was paying for his ex wives rehab. So much of his money went to family and others he was bordering on malnourished whenever not on duty. He was a good man and you drove a nine mill down his throat till his jaw broke, kind of like this." Pulling sharply the gun was pushed further till her knuckles were gracing the thugs lips. "And then what did you do?"

Now came her favorite part where the killer begged. She heard offers of drugs and money of promotions and so much more. His panic was the beat and soon enough various criminals began the chorus. Denied skin they wanted blood and Liz wasn't going to deny them. She squeezed finger gentle gaze calm. A gunshot echoes through the hall and a wet thud softly chases that reverberating sound.

@_gaige_

After S.W.A.T. showed up, I didn't make it too far. It was heat of the moment thinking, y'know? My mind wasn't straight. Some part of me thought that I could outrun the GCPD in a bright red costume and a cape. I mean, I guess I ended better off than Skub, the poor green bastard, but this? This ain't good. Cops were waiting for me around the corner of the alley. Hell, they were probably just in line to get a piece of Skub. I ran right into their damn arms. "Get on your knees!" they said. "Hands where I can see them!" they said. I wasn't much for being ordered around, but c'mon, pick your battles!I wasn't about to get blown away because some f*cked-in-the-head kid went supernova next door. So they restrained me, with their special super restraints. I guess it's standard procedure for vigilantes these days. Then they loaded me into an armored truck, which was a small holding cell in itself. Armed and armored guards sat their with me, ARs at the ready. Seems like overkill, but hey, can't be too safe with all these psychos running around Gothic. "How f*ckin' convenient." I said, scoffing as I attempted to scratch my nose past my unnecessarily bulky shackles. "Whole reason we're doin' what we do is because you slobs won't do your job. And whadda ya know, our first gig and you come crashing down with the full might of the GCPD." The guard sat stoic for what felt like hours, ignoring my comment. The f*ck was this, Buckingham Palace? A simple 'shut up' would've sufficed. They must've towed me half way around Gothic and back before we came to a stop. Some kinda screwy safety precaution? Heh, bet if I asked they'd tell me it was 'for my own protection.' More standard procedure bullshit. I get vigilantes have enemies, but come on. I'm no Dark Vengeance.

When we loaded out, S.W.A.T. guys were swarming on me, locked and loaded. Hell, I was practically invisible, cloaked by a squad of armored asshats who only do their job when someone else is trying to do it for them. They just kept moving and pushing me along, into whatever cop shop we happened to be at. Getting in was easy, getting out? That'd be interesting. We stopped moving near an empty holding cell, which they unlocked and pushed me into. The same two guards that rode with me on the way here took a seat next to me. I didn't bother asking questions. Best they don't see me as a real threat anyway. Extra attention was something I didn't need right now. A male guard came in and took my mask and my fingerprints. He strip-searched me, took my blades and my costume. Being robbed of my equipment was hardly the worst part of the search. But I complied. After he was done, the guards lowered their weapons and I was handed a pair of street clothes. They left me to rot in there until they could transfer me.

The cops were loud. Joking around about all the illegal shit they've done on the job, fanning themselves with their stolen drug money and taking hits off what they scored at their latest bust. Sick f*cks. You could almost smell the clean cops from a mile away. They were so nervous, so naive. One of them happened to be walking through the door. I couldn't read her badge from my cell, but her partner kept calling her Liz through his itchy teeth. They were talking about Jericho and the Crimson Blades. Wannabes? Maybe. At least we fought for Gothic. The GCPD has been practically out of commission ever since that archer vanished. Hopefully things would change when Alex Rook took hold.

My train of thought was thrown off track by a muffled conversation. There was an interrogation room on the other side of the wall. Looking cautiously for any guards nearby, I found none. They were understaffed as is I guess, probably sent half the city out to capture me. Figured I was dealt with now that I was ID'd and without gear in this shithole of a cell. I pressed my ear to the wall, focusing to make out the conversation on the other side. "Juarez had two sons and a daughter. He was paying for his ex wives rehab. So much of his money went to family and others he was bordering on malnourished whenever not on duty. He was a good man and you drove a nine mill down his throat till his jaw broke, kind of like this." Holy shit. This Cop wasn't just clean, she was one of us. I heard the click of the hammer of her gun pulling back, the pleads of the man inside. My heart raced with anticipation. "And then what did you do?" I could hear the gagging sounds of the man attempting to force the barrel from his mouth, combined with the cries met with the weapon being forced further. His teeth chattered, clicking against the weapons as muffled, choked sobs escaped his mouth, met with a conclusive 'BANG!' The bullet passed through his spinal cord like tissue paper, sending the projectile into the wall which my ear was pressed against. I fell to the ground, ears ringing, holding my head as I struggled to deal with the feeling of my head splitting open from the side. I breathed deeply in an attempt to dull the sharp pain ringing through my head, and wished Liz knew to do the same. That gunshot probably came close to deafening the poor girl in that interrogation room. Those places were not built for gunfire. As she ran from the interrogation room, I called out to her. She was my best shot. "Hey! Officer! Liz!" I stuck my arm out of the bars and hoped I got her attention by calling her by her first name. I was practically yelling to fight the ringing in my ears, and knew she was probably having a hard time hearing me as well. "It's me, Crimson. You know, the Crimson Blades? I heard what just happened in the other room." She seemed shocked. I wasn't surprised. We were both breathing quite differently, myself from the splitting pain in my skull and her most likely from shooting a man int he middle of a police station. "I need you to help me, Liz. I need you to get me out of here, and get me to my gear." This had better work, or else I'm in for a long time back at Bedlam. They took my prints, ID'd me. They'd stick me back in there like they did so many years ago. They'd be hunting me. And she was my girl on the inside. What she just did there? That was her first taste of vigilante justice. And I'd be damned if it was her last. "You're one of us now."

@crimson_vigilante:

Ears slightly ringing Liz pointed behind her to instruct someone to remove the body and start cleaning the room. There would be a stain but such things were not new to the prison. When the cops were honest back in the day they were also fans of brutality. Gothic bread violence it was that nature that assisted in running the GCPD into little more then another gang. Now usually the cops were sour or naive that didn't change their behavior though. Gunning down or beating up people was common place. Not every officer was bad but so many could come off as such just for what this city did to people.

Doing her best to eliminate the ringing in her ear Liz heard someone calling her name. She'd as such gone to enter the corridor of cells layered and full of convicts. Many there as well called out obscene requests and insulting content. One of them mentioning some of his younger exploits. She was half tempted to give the thug the same lead treatment as she'd given another. It'd be so easy, but she didn't have the money to buy an execution and that villain wasn't one who'd get to walk free. Still her finger twitched as it rested on her holster.

She stopped before a vigilante who'd been caught. And soon came the pled for help, it wasn't the first time someone asked for bail. It was however the first time the officer considered answering diffrently.

"You know I've nothing against vigilanties you do work most cops won't. That and with the city loosing it's place of stature amongst the states I don't know if any laws really can be said to hold levity. That said I'm not sure I want to turn to being like you. I don't wear a costume I wear a uniform and I'd rather gun for commissioner then the latest spandex wearing body bag." The idea of such a promotion was hopefully idealistic and was in truth Liz's lingering naive notions. People didn't promote based on quality but who kissed the most asses.

"But let's be more realistic, to free you and your comrades it'd likely mean a prison riot. You'd have gangs and crooks on one end and crooked cops on the other. It'd be your posse myself and a handful of officers against a hundred or more people. On top of that, some would likely escape into the city. Undoing what little good has been done. So what's the progressive quality to this action?" As she asked she was fetching a lock pick from her belt. A fair amount officers were taught how to pick a lock at the academy. Entering with a breach procedure could lead to a shotgun shell to the face after all. However while she might be able to pick a lock or two she couldn't do it for an entire team. More so however when one person was freed, broke out, or bought off many just had a tendency to follow regaurdless. She had good reason to hesitate to pick the lock.

@mojohnson: @crimson_vigilante: @_gaige_:

"He went this way. He has to be around here somewhere."

"Turn on the alarm and lock down the pris-"

Everything goes dark, at that moment. The lights in the prison.

"Someone get the backup power back on."

Jericho walked out of a monitoring room soon after, another area blind when the power was to come back on. And he would need it Getting into the lockup meant that he could reclaim his face. At the same time, he needed everyone as blind as possible for now. So as to make this easier. A riot in a shambling prison like this? And the resourcefulness of prisoners naturally meant it wouldn't take much to overwhelm the guards.

Why attempt to one-man-army all the guards when you can sick a literal entire army upon them? And with them free, together, the frantic chaos would make an ideal breeding ground. Jericho looked down to his hand, clutching the syringe in his hand. They key to the chaos. This little thing he would used in his unlikely attempt to end the world. He hardly even though his plan would work, to be honest. But, it was a world of unlikely hoods. And how ironic, how poetic, it would be for the end-times to spawn from a place long abandoned that no one cared for.

So far, everything was going exactly according to plan.

Only approximately 5 minutes later, the guards had gotten the power back on.

Soon however, a few of the cell doors not in solitary, electronically operated, flew open. prisoners awoke from slumber, activity stirring. Doors, unlocked, moments later and prisoners ran out. It wasn't too long before prisoners began to riot, hearing the alarm sound throughout the jail, perpetually and unseemlessly. Not all prisoners were released at the same time, as indeed, only so many can be released at once and not all locks were electronic. However. and it would take time for everything to be unleashed. It's going to be a long night.

Police appeared in front of the armory's door moments later. Scanning the area for prisoners and intruders. No sign of anything as the door is locked shut, the reinforcement making it impossible to breach with anything a prisoner would have access to on his own. A few moments later, the guards were posted, prepared to defend against any intruder here. The prison was lacking in metahumans and superhumans after all. A long and narrow hallway like. No one is gonna get far before they just gun them down.

However, their plan fell to shit at the noise of a large explosion, the door flying off it's hinges forward at blurring speeds. The large more than half ton blow sending the thing hurdling forward with easily bone shattering force that was accompanied by it. The remaining guards scrambled to their feet, trying to see through smoke and debris. Sift through confusion. A few moments later. Then they see him appear behind one of them, one yelling all too late at the heavily armored masked madman behind them.

The combat knife went into the side of the armored officers still exposed neck, Jericho's hand moving towards the rifle held, as he took his hand and guided it from behind him, holding him as he turned the man's gun on his allies. Then attempt to fire back, but the man's armored body does fairly well at absorbing the bullets. His body limp and useless, Jericho draws a .44 magnum and 6 shots meet 6 heads. The halls grew quiets moments after, until the prisoners seemed to come out of the wet work. Walking towards him.

"Woah, nice work with these cops man!" "You really did a number on 'em." "Yeah, ey ya'll. Les get strapped up homey!"

One of them takes a step forward, as Jericho loads his revolvers, standing idly as the crowd approaches, however. They stop when Jericho holds the revolver up. Aiming it at them. Prompting a confused responsed, followed with all too predictable anger.

"How bullets you got in there? One for everyone of us in here? You might wanna rethink this before we go and jump yo punk ass. Better hope I go down with that first shot."

Humans are such easy prey.

He puts the magnum in his pocket. "Yeah that's what I thought." He say, striding forward, only a few steps before a katana flings out of it's sheath faster than the man actually saw. A gash appears across his chest, as he falls back. One more comes forth and Jericho rears the blade back, taking a step forward as he makes a swift swing. Jericho side steps they haymaker the man the man through, as his head falls off cleanly after the motion.

The rest stop. If they wanted, the could have potentially overwhelmed him, there was at least 60 of them, and the crowd threatened to just to simply be too much for him. But they were afraid of death. No one wanted to be the one to die.

Jericho grabbed the first man by the head, him laying on the floor, rasping for air, he injected it's contents into the man's bloodstream, as he then, drops him. The man convulsing as he looks towards the crowd in his way. His head tilting as he silently judges them.

"I really must apologize" Jericho says, looking about."The horrors you will witness. The things that may or may not occur outside of this. I know not all of you deserve this, and I try to have mercy. I try. I know you've seen adversity, I know you've suffered. But, it must all come to an end, somehow. Some way. Some quicker than others." Jericho shoots the essentially, youngest person in the room, at around 15 years old to the astonishment of the others, as they run. "Some have their ways of attempting to break the cycle."

The man behind Jericho stops convulsing,and the blood of the Necodexa virus takes form. It had all been ultimately leading up to this. This was the way he wanted Gothic to Burn. If the infection spreads outside the prison, it could easily take the city. If it takes the city? It would gain control over the mutant populace of the city, more than likely. And then, simply put, as he'd said.

This city. This world. Must burn.

The man got up, howling and making an unnatural, gargling noise that caused the prisoners to run in utter horror as the crowd was already frantically trying to escape. The infected lunged Jericho, who caught it by the neck, as he snapped relentlessly at his face. Despite the wounds, despite the self surgery, he was able to hold him at bay, and indeed, weaponize him. Unable to overpower it, he deflects it and throws it into the crowd. It attracted by the yelling, and with it's enhanced speed it was able to catch the crowd easily. From there, one infected became two. Who then became four. Who became ten. Eventually, there was 70 or so, their howls audible through the halls.

The armory was wide open, and the prison was put on lockdown. He was nowhere to be seen, moving about the prison to ensure riots, to seek to open the flood gates to the rest of the prison, and soon, the city.

@_jericho: @crimson_vigilante: @_gaige_:

Maurice reached the second floor, and was surprised to find himself in a prison facility. He probably should've been able to guess Gothic wouldn't have access to full medical resources, but he was too busy trying to escape to think that the hospital floor was only a small part of the building he was in. Two prison guards ran right past Mo with rifles in hand, clearly indicating that something was happening. Maurice didn't want to get in the middle of it, so he ran the other way, and stopped when he saw the back of a man whose physique perfectly matched the pig-masked man from earlier. He wasn't about to stick around to find out if it actually was him, so he turned to the left, and ran into three inmates, who seemed completely devoid of personality, and ran at him. He turned around, and quickly ran back, and then was forced to run past the room with the man he assumed was the masked man, and hope he didn't notice. While he was looking back at the zombie-like prisoners, he ran into another guard, who dropped his rifle. Maurice quickly grabbed the rifle, and shot the infected inmates until they fell to the ground. The guard tried to wrest the rifle from Maurice, but he threw an elbow to the guard's face, who stumbled back, holding his bleeding nose. Mo hit the guard in the head with the butt of the guard's own rifle, which knocked him out cold. Maurice kept the rifle, and continued running until he ran into his all but dissolved team's leader, the Crimson Vigilante, as he called himself, who was talking to a police officer. "Crimson!" Mo said, as he stopped running, and rested, with one hand hanging out of his cast, and the other holding the rifle. "That masked guy, I think I saw him back there. And the prisoners are going crazy! I think they're sick with something, their eyes were glowing green." He introduced himself to the officer "Maurice Johnson. Nice to meet you."

A black portal appeared, and Nero stepped out of it behind Maurice, saying "Sorry to interrupt the party, and it seems like a wild one, but I need to borrow Mr. Johnson." He put Maurice in a choke hold, until he was unconscious. "Shh, shh! It's alright, I won't hurt you. I need you to give someone their incentive." he said. Nero placed his arms under Mo's, and dragged him into the portal, which disappeared after Maurice's feet were enveloped by it. Maurice was gone. Taken by the stranger, to who knows where? Whatever would happen to the jailhouse, Maurice wouldn't be able to steer it towards a better outcome.

---Profanity Warning----

He was unsure of exactly how long it has been. It felt like hours, maybe they'd been there all night. Couldn't be bothered to stay in one place for long let alone take a glance at the time. His eyes were only set upon his goal. A track athlete does not stop and look at the time during the race, not until it was all done. And it he could already tell it was going to be a long night. He ran down the hall, seeking to find some area of temporary refuge among the chaos that had long consumed nearly the entire prison. Not only this, but he sought to open any doors, and barricade. To allow the entire thing to be lost, making it an ideal breeding ground for the infected. He sought the refuge, so that he may destroy it. All must be consumed. However, he came upon a cafeteria, and found it to be well guarded.

"Fucking chicken faced freak!"

The guard yelled it as he sought to chase after the man, the masked man reflexively evading the man's aim, darting around a corner. A storm of bullets following him. No direct way to get in, and he hears screams down the other end of the hallway. One more turn, just a bit further, he would come face to face with a bumbling hoard of them. He didn't need precognition to know what would happen when you get bum rushed by a horde numbering in the dozens if not more, with enhanced strength and speed. One? It was easy. A wave of them? Not the best idea. And on the other end, was a firing squad waiting to execute whoever was indifferent or so capable of sprinting down roughly 40 feet without getting riddled with lead. There was no room to maneuver. No space to evade even if he had such speed. Results were equally, predictable.

So he ran to the side, opened the door to a closet and hid himself inside of it. Unaware of what would happen. He lacked the voice within, the one that often told him or hinted as to what would occur next. The aspect of himself that had allowed him to harness much, that allowed him to push his body, mind and soul to the brink to accomplish what he believed in, absent. Suppressed by mere medication. He did not hold much in the way of fear. He had plenty of bullets and explosives. A blade too. If they started mashing on the door and flooded into the 8x8 room, he would only need one round in the end. But, there was a little fear. It creeped and gnawed at the back of his skull, and what little of it he had, he enjoyed.

He heard a few bumps and yelling outside. Roars that announced their screeches. The door banged and trembled, and indeed, he could feel the ground minutely shake too. Not and earthquake, but enough to disturb a small transparent container holding some cleaning material. However, after a while, the mashing on the door had stopped, and seemingly most any infected had come to pass him up. Instead, all he heard gunfire, and the frantic yelling of guards and prisoners alike the sound echoing throughout and drawing more and more.

This is probably gonna take a while. Might as well lighten the weight.

He didn't need a voice in his head to know that he was hungry, or that he'd be there for quite some time. So, he reached into his custom leatterman's jacket. He sifted past sheathed knives, frags, C-4, a few magazines and some semtex, for a can of Tuna, a Chef Boy R D, a swiss Army knife and a snicker bar. He flips past various tools the swiss army knife had to offer, for the can opener as he began with the tuna. Wasn't too soon before frantic yelling and gunfire became screams, franatic gunfire and yelling. He pulled his face (mask) up, ever so slightly. To many, having your face (mask0 half off might have been uncomfortable but he showed no signs of wincing or discomfort as he ate in relative silence. After some time, the silence became less relative as yelling and screaming stopped.

Wonder if any of this is going to matter.

He his ears was pressed against the door of the closet, as he slowly ate the very last of the snickers, the only significant noise he could hear was peanuts crunching underneath his teeth and nougat sifting around in his mouth. A few moments later, the door creeps open, and he sees little a line of corpses down the hall, and one of the things just walking down the hall. A bit of a quieter noise can be heard, the raspy inhuman breathes of mouthes filled, flesh and meat being torn, as others just walk about. The door opens and the masked man appears, the infected turning to see the glint of a katana, before his head falls from his shoulders.

Wasn't too long of a journey, then, as he kept track of where infected had gathered, making his way to yet another bloodied control room that opened cells and doors bout the prison. Empty with, only a few corpses in it, he found an inconvience. He couldn't open the main doors, as the officer had made some sort of effort to prevent this by smashing the console. Preventing him from unleashing this plague upon the city and perhaps, destroying it once and for all. However, Jericho was not content to simply quite. His mind raced, trying to think of some way to overcome this unexpected inconvenience. Then dawned on him....the sewers.

Gothic's sewer system was absurdly spacious easily enough to allow men and things larger to traverse and inhabit it. He found his way to the basement, a sinking feeling that his mission, was nearly over. The Masked Mass Murdering Psychopath ran his hand over the solid concrete walls, feeling and then, knocking on them. Listening. His hands could very well exert enough force to break a solid brick or small block of concrete, but his hands could never cause some walls such as this to yield. He could punch it all day to no effect with his puny, mortal hands. But, that is why men invented tools. To accomplish things they typically could not with their conventional mortal bodies. Through listening, he found the weakest, and thinnest wall. His hands went into his pocket, reaching for a C4 charge and placing it on the wall. Some thick pile of boxes made for a decent thing to hide behind.

*BOOM*

They heard. Best get a move on. Sneakers skirted against tile, then clacked against the concrete and not too soon after, trudged threw sewage. He was swift as the rats that littered the place, trudging as indifferently as they did through piss and shit. Howls and yells not heard not too far behind him. The hoard behind him and swiftly gaining on him with their superior speed, soon to force him into a fight, to fend for himself. But soon, he'd find that he wouldn't need to, because at that moment, everything had seemingly come to an end. Gunfire of roared down the sewers, gunfire of an unconventional sort. The bullets lit the air ablaze and left trails from the barrels that they were fired, not unlike tracers. The effects on his body were severe, as they tore through him like wet tissue paper, causing the masked man to fall to the floor like a sack of bricks. The other infected suffered similiar effects, though they did not fall until the round tore them to pieces. The things splashed into the water and the men moved on.

There he lied. Wallowing in some amalgamation of unknown chemicals, fecal matter and urine, before he would finally find his way to his feet, tearing his face (his mask) from his head as he spat out water. His bodily self control enabling him to hold his breath for approximately 45 seconds, rose to his knees wiping his face and clearing his vision. The men were gone, and their rounds, luckily traveled too fast to lodge into him. Indeed, the rounds overpenetrated. Punching through his body, indeed, like wet tissue paper. However, this did little more than create a hole in him. There wasn't much shock. Unlike the concrete wall behind him, which melted and shattered, showing greater damage. If he had the physiology of a more durable enhanced human or metahuman a step ahead of a normal human? The rounds would have killed him.

He looked up, clenching his bloodied side. Nothing left to do here. It was over. There was a peaking light, as the sun rose. Giving way to some light in the sewers to shine on him and the corpses within. The light shining on a ladder that lead to a manhole. As he looked about, he sauntered over. Deciding to rejoin with the surface world. To see all that has changed.

(@mercy_: Can you be a dear, and lock this for me?)