Death Row (Season 1): IC

[1DVSguy]

(Teaser)
OOC

President John McGregor

Washington D.C
August 26, 2017:

"Come on Mr. President, we don't have much time!"

John McGregor was jostled along the richly decorated hallway of the White House by his presidential bodyguards. Sweat flowed down his brow and he reached up to wipe it, but was moved forward before he could complete the movement. Adrenaline and fear flowed through his veins as he struggled to keep up with his secret service. "What's the situation?" He asked nervously as he fought to catch his breath.

"Marines have broken through our lines on Pennsylvania Avenue, the whole city is going to shit! We got tanks bearing down on us from the north and Army infantry coming at us from the West!"

They reached the end of the hall and burst through a heavy oaken door, revealing the famous oval office inside. While his secret service secured the room, President McGregor stumbled toward the windows in a daze, "My god... what has the world come to?..." He spoke aloud as he stared dumbfounded at the scene that greeted him.

Washington D.C was in flames. The sound of glass breaking could be heard in the air as protesters rioted, frustration caused by a year of famine and overpopulation. Gunshots were mixed in with angry shouting as news choppers filled the air, providing the latest coverage on the chaos.

"Jackson, any news on my wife and children?"

Jackson, his head of security, wiped beads of sweat from his brow as he answered wearily, "Last I heard they were safe in Maryland... but things can change..."

John tried to take comfort in that small fact... but it was hard knowing that his life might end very soon...

Jackson's radio crackled to life, on the other end a voice was shouting desperately as gunshots were heard in the background, "We're holding our ground on the South lawn! *Crackle* The Marines *Crackle* overwhelming us! *Crackle* We can't hold them back for long! AGHH!--" The line went dead.

Jackson drew his gun, a shiny SIG SauerP228, and said hurriedly, "They're coming for us Mr. President!"

The six men took cover behind various pieces of furniture, with Jackson and John taking cover behind the Resolute Desk.
John patted the English oak fondly, "This desk was used by Kennedy, Carter, Reagan, Bush, and Obama... What a shame for it to be destroyed now..."

"Sir?..."

John sighed, "Jackson, this is the end... They want me... you and your men have done enough, save yourselves while you still can..."

Jackson shook his head, "Sir, with all due respect... To hell with that! I swore an oath to protect you, I intend to keep that oath even if it means giving my life!"

The other four bodyguards murmured in agreement, "It's been a honor serving you sir..." One of them said quietly.

John smiled, feeling pride well up in his chest, "Likewise."

Minutes passed in silence before one of the men spoke, "I hear them!"
They tensed and the five members of the secret service adjusted their aim.

The door exploded, sending wooden splinters flying into the room, through the smoke an object rolled into the center of the room.

"GRENADE! MR. PRESIDENT GET DOWN!"

John felt Jackson's hand press him firmly into the ground.
The grenade exploded and gunshots started to fill the air as Marines stormed into the room. The secret service attempted to fight back, but were cut down by a relentless hail of bullets from the barrels of the Marines. Jackson stood and fired his pistol into the group of Marines.
John looked up at him as Jackson's leg spewed out a fountain of blood. Jackson grunted and fell onto on knee, he held up his pistol and fired off another shot in grim determination before his head was thrown back, blood arcing in a line from a bullet hole in his forehead.

John stared in horror as Jackson slumped to the floor, lifeless. From the other edge of the room a voice shouted, "Room secure General!"

A figure strode into the room, stepping over the dead bodies. John stood up with dread as he faced the man he had once called friend.
The figure drew a M9 Beretta and pointed it at John, "Nnh, nnh, nnh, stay where you are John..."

John gritted his teeth, "James! Why are you doing this!"

James Cesario glared at him with ice blues eyes that seemed to pierce right into John's soul, "You know why... Because while you squabble and argue in your politicians club, people are dying on the streets! You politicians sicken me... always sitting on your asses doing nothing! The people of America can't wait for Democracy anymore. They can't sit around and starve while you discuss this in Congress! They need action NOW! They need a strong leader... they need me!"

James continued, the words coming out in an angry stream, "Your friends in Langley are on my side, same with the FBI. While congress is in hiding, quaking in fear!" He looked at John with contempt, "What are you going to do John?" He said mockingly.

John squared his jaw in a desperate attempt to look strong, "You would betray America? You would betray it's people, and you would betray me? Do with me what you will James... you're nothing but a common dictator..."

General Cesario motioned for the Marines to take him away, "I haven't betrayed America, I'm only doing what's right... too bad you won't live long enough to see this country become great again..."

As he was forced down the hallway, John called out, "It was great... you just didn't see the potential..."

General Cesario smirked, "Oh I see the potential all right..."

[1DVSguy]

Thomas "Thom" Nantz

Death Row
January 20, 2037:
2130 Hours

Thom Nantz stumbled along the walkway, to his left he passed cell after cell occupied by inmates. To his right, a metal railing prevented anyone from falling off into the lower level. Across from the walkway lay an identical layout, forming a sort of two floor hallway filled with ray shielded prison cells, providing a red glow to the relatively dark interior of the lunar prison.

A rifle prodded him from behind, "Move it Staff Sergeant."

Thom looked over his shoulder, and prison guard clad in a dark grey uniform grinned, "What's the matter Staff Sergeant?" He said mockingly, "I thought you devil dogs were made of sterner stuff!"

Thom held his gaze and the prison guard's facial expression hardened, "I said MOVE IT!"

Another prod from the rifle, and Thom stumbled forward. A Security drone hovered in the air to the right of him, training its twin sub machine guns at him. The right sleeve of Thom's orange jumpsuit shifted revealing the words, "SEMPER FIDELIS," inscribed into his upper arm.

"Why can't you just kill me and get it over with?..." Thom muttered not caring if the guard answered or not.

"Hmm, don't tempt me traitor. I would love to just shootcha in the back right now. But every prisoner needs to wait their turn. Oh, I don't know if you will die tomorrow or the year after... just rest assured that you will die..."

Thom sighed with resignation, how had it come to this? The memories of the trial he received just the day before were still fresh in his mind...

***

"Staff Sergeant Thomas Nantz, you have been accused of conspiring against the United States of America, inciting rebellion, and treason... How do you plead?"

Thom snorted, what he did was hardly considered treason. He was only... speaking his mind...
"Guilty, your honor..."

The old man in front of him nodded as if he expected the answer, the judge pushed up his glasses and said with a bored expression, "Then I hereby strip you of all formal rank, and discharge you dishonorably from the United States Marine Corps. I sentence you to..." He paused for unnecessary dramatic effect, "... Death Row."

Pound!

The sound of the gavel sealed his fate as a police officer handcuffed his hands and escorted him out from the near empty court room. The only jury present being the judge.

Right to speedy trial indeed... Thom thought bitterly.

***

The ray shields powered down in front of him and Thom was shoved inside, uncuffed hands held out to break his fall. He landed with a oof! as the guard powered up the ray shields again, bathing the cell in a red glow. He gave a mocking military salute, "Enjoy your stay Staff Sergeant!..." and walked away chuckling to himself.

Thom sat up from the hard concrete floor and examined his surroundings.
A single bunk was attached to the wall and a small metal sink and toilet lay on the opposite end of the cramped cell, a plastic curtain surrounded the toilet to provide some privacy while it's occupants went about his or her business. A camera was installed at the top of the right corner, a blinking red dot on the side of it, indicating that it was continuously scanning for obstructions that would block it's view.

Fantastic...

Thom lay on the bunk exhausted, the bunk was hard and uncomfortable. But Thom didn't care, all he wanted at the moment was to retreat into his sleep for respite and peace...

It couldn't have come soon enough...

[Arlear]

Steven

Death Row
January 20, 2037:
2130 Hours



Steven stared out at the walkway through the laser bars of his cell, watching the newest inmate get shoved toward his cell at gunpoint. Typical, they could never just ask nicely, could they? He shrugged, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. As usual, the arrival of a new inmate brought back memories of when he was caught and brought in.

How long ago had that been now? A year? A year and a half maybe? He still wasn't sure how in hell he had fallen for the set up. Supposed he had just been that deep in need for cash. He remembered it well enough. Big job, he had to steal a certain box of food and ingredients for his client. That was all he stole nowadays, food and supplies. No one wanted jewels any more, took all the fun out of being a cat burglar. Still, the security was enough for some good fun.

All of it had started as normal. A contract showed up in his mail, gave him a location, an item, and a drop point for the item where he would find his pay. No big deal. So he went. Like a fool, out of his boredom, he failed to notice the signs of a setup. There weren't half the guards there should have been, at least a quarter of the security must have been turned off, hell, most of the hallways were about as protected as a middleschool lunchroom. It all registered as odd, from scaling the side of the building to entering the room, but none of it clicked, not until he opened the god damn box.

Empty. Nothing but space, except for that one little canister at the bottom, and the string attached to it, which he had just pulled like a fool. There wasn't any warning, just a flash of light and a ringing in his ears, then the feeling of being surrounded. Finally, his vision cleared, and all he saw was a ring of guns. All he heard was yelling, telling him to get on the ground. No way out of this one. He had fallen for it bit time. He felt the cold metal of the cuffs locking around his wrists, and sighed.

A short time later, he was in a courtroom. He knew what the sentence would be. It was death row for everyone now. Still, he didn't listen to a word that was being said. Not until the very end, when he heard the judge ask how he pleaded. That was when he smiled.
"Yer honor, there's only one thing I'd like to say, and something you should see. One, fuck. you. Two, enjoy watchin' my ass, hm?"
The judge blinked, and the guard beside him caught on just a moment to late to grab Steven, who was already jumping from chair to table, and from table to door. He knew the final escape attempt was worthless, so he wasted enough time to lower his drawers and moon the courtroom before darting through the door and down the hall. He almost made it to the window. Almost. It was right about then that he had been tackled to the ground, and had his head bashed into it, knocking him clean out.

Next thing he knew, he was being loaded onto a prison transport to death row. He shrugged, and behaved for the trip. When they arrived, he was, in much the same manner as the new man, prodded into his prison cell, insulted the whole way through, before finally being left generally alone behind the dark red laser bars. That was bliss to him. No contracts to fill out, no need to worry about money, or food. Still, it had him bored to death, and so he was determined to escape. He would try until he died or managed to get out, all in the sake of fun and showing the world they had no hold over him. That was all that ran through his head now. Escape. Eat, sleep, plan to escape. Eat, sleep, plan to escape. Day in and day out.

And he liked it that way.

[Aries]

Caleb

Death Row
January 18, 2037
2300 Hours

"Well, shit" Caleb spat, mere second after being jostled in to a cell. He cracked his knuckles tight and and fell in to a slump on his bed. Over ten years he had been a criminal, now he got convicted from robbing a convenience store? A freakin' convenience store? He was the only one in his cell and he was glad about it, at least for the time being, he just felt like being by himself, being locked up with somebody like himself 24/7 would get on his nerves.

He sighed. He was not only pissed off, but he was also scared. Fear wasn't an emotion you would usually connect to Caleb, as he always seemed like he was afraid of nothing, but being locked in a prison for the rest of his days? That is frightening. No freedom, for a start, obviously. But apart from that, his life would lack good friends, would lack excitement, he wouldn't be able to speak to anyone without maintaining a straight face.

He paused and lay down on his bed. How did he get here?

Caleb's Basement
January 10, 2037
0527 Hours

Caleb had just woken up, he could barley sleep. For the past few days, he just hadn't felt right. Five days earlier, he and two of his fellow gang members had raided the corner shop's register. There wasn't much cash in there, but they needed it. None of them could keep a job, so they relied on crime to earn their pay. It went smoothly, the shopkeeper didn't see their faces, and the police cars didn't arrive until long after they where off down the road.

He had took his cut of the plunder back to his place, the basement of his cousins' takeaway shop, where he had resided for many years. Few people knew of his establishment, only his cousin, and some of the most trusted gang members. At least, he thought he trusted them. He heard a crash upstairs, and instantly knew he'd been snitched on. "Freakin' traitors!" he whispered, sliding behind a couple of boxes, knowing that they couldn't really keep him safe.

Seconds later, armed police burst through the door, raised their guns and bellowed "hands in the air!" Caleb knew he would rather go to prison than get shot, so he stood up and raised his hands in the air. If he was lucky, the sentence wouldn't be too long. Sure, his gang had killed people, but he had never done it with his own hands. That couldn't be too long- could it?

He sat up, cursing under his breath. If he could know who snitched on him, he would make sure he would hunt them down and beat the shit out of them. But then he remembered he was never going to get out. "God damn judge." He remembered his trial- he didn't even consider pleading innocent, it would just get him a few extra years. At least he thought it would, at the time.

Court of Law
January 16 2037
1600 Hours

The rooms lighting was low when Caleb entered it. It wasn't like on TV, where the court room was full of random people, secretly hoping he would be proved innocent, in fact, there was not one person in the audience, it was just the Judge, his staff, and the jury. He closed his eyes, he just wanted it to be over with. Several minuets passed with the jury chattering and the Judge discussing pointless things, until the question came. "Caleb Steele, how do you plead?"

Caleb breathed in calmly. "Guilty." Soon after the judge peered down at him. "Good, good. I like it when they don't but up a fight." Caleb was angered by the wizened old man, but he remained calm. "I sentence you to a onehundred and fifty years in prison."

Caleb stepped forward "F*cking onehundred and fifty years? Where the hell did you get that number?! Listen bonebag, I 'aint serving that." The judge paused for a moment and looked down on him. "We'll make it onehundred and sixty for misconduct, and eh- onehundred and seventy for resistance. Take him away, boys." Caleb stared angrily at the judge as he was dragged away.

Caleb snapped out of it. It was late, and he needed some sleep. The bed here wasn't bad anyway.

[MsKittyCatty]

Death Row
January 21, 2037
0300 Hours


Farrah hummed to herself as a guard passed by her cell. Her dirty fingers gripped the edge of the grimy bed and her big grey eyes squinted to peer between her grown out bangs hanging in her face. Her stringy brown hair stood still, and if anyone had looked inside, they might have thought Farrah a statue. When she couldn’t hear the guard’s feet anymore, her hum turned into a low, sorrowful whistle tune. She pursed her lips, and her hair moved slightly, but otherwise she remained very still, the toes of her bare feet barely scrapping the floor of her cell.


Mother… you’re a whore. You used me to be everything you were supposed to be. You even let dad’s friends use me because you were scared…

Dad… you’re a lazy d*ck. You never looked at me except to brag about how I looked to your pervert buddies…

Foster family… I don’t even remember your names… I do remember how smart you were… “Never beat them so much others will ask questions” you said. Haha, very careful, weren’t you? Until that slut at school beat me up. Then all rules were out the window, weren’t they mommy and daddy? I must have started it, hmm?

Stupid homeless men… constantly trying to chase me around abandoned cars and catch me off guard while sleeping. You sick pervert…

IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!!

Farrah’s whistle had gotten loud and she reeled it back in. She heard the echo of footsteps coming back and returned her whistle to a hum before laying down slowly and robotically on her mattress to look up at the ceiling. She slowly closed her eyes and tried to remember what it felt like. She began to taste ham and steak and corn on the cob… She could feel a silk robe against her body and perfumed soap smells radiating from her soft skin. If only she hadn’t gotten careless with her theft and breaking and entering… If only she hadn’t stolen that outrageous car… If only she had taken the backroads instead of the interstate… If only she had had someone care… If only…

“Those are stupid thoughts Farrah,” she spoke aloud to herself. “Remember,” she whispered. Farrah’s mind shifted from the past to present as she went over again in her mind possible means of escape from this hell hole.

[Static]

Elliot René Warner

En-route to Death Row
January 20, 2037
1430 Hours

The back of her head thrummed like a war drum, each pulse vibrating her vision until she was forced to lid her black-brown eyes again. Despite it having been two days, the wound still felt as fresh as day one. Her fingertips itched to touch it, but her wrists were bound. As if the 5’3’’ woman could stand a chance against any one of the guards on the aircraft. Her eyes parted again, dancing over to the small port-hole at her side that offered a narrow view of space. Elliot warned tightened her fingers into her palms, a flash of memory returning to her as it had done sporadically since she woke.
-----------

The information house
January 17, 2037
1900 Hours

“Ellie, do you have the latest transmission?” A baritone voice questioned, pulling Elliot from the slight stupor she had been in. The woman nodded and produced a stack of papers from a bag that was slumped by her feet. Enthusiastically, her fingers drummed on the sheets before she slid them across the makeshift table in the dimly lit “meeting room”. Like much of the house, it was cold and dank and smelled vaguely of mildew at all times.

“Scratch and I figure we can move in to occupy Main Street by the first of March, at the earliest. The latest would be by June.” She stated quietly, receiving many approving nods from around the table. Jack, however, seemed skeptical. His lips parted to say something, but no one heard a single word from him. No one heard anything but the sound of the main door bursting open, glass hitting the ground. Each pair of eyes looked to another, knowing just what that breaking glass indicated.

As they had planned, Jack quickly lit a match and dropped it onto the pile of papers in front of him. Each person at the table pitched in, burning documents as the sound of shouting filled their ears. Elliot scrambled to light her papers, watching the edge of the papers curl as gun fire infiltrated her brain. She couldn’t recall what was being shouted at her, she could only see the lips of police with shields and guns. On your knees.

Elliot dropped to her knees, her eyes wide as her hands moved to the back of her head. Some had fought them, their bodies were quickly splattered to the ground. There was a zero tolerance for resistance, especially with those considered dangerous. And those planning to overthrow the government, were always dangerous. They reached for her, pulling her to her feet while reciting something. Elliot smirked, but held her tongue when they questioned if there were others in the house. That was the wrong reaction, for the last thing she recall was a baton being lifted to swing.

----
Death Row
January 21, 2037
0330 Hours

The black-haired woman returned to the present again just when she was given a shove inside a concrete room, which was not much unlike she was accustomed to prior to arriving on the moon. At least it had a bed. Elliot quickly swirled around on her heel to stare back at the guard whose lips were moving, “… but don’t get too comfortable, rat.”

Rat. She remembered hearing the 6’5’’ man saying that several times on her journey through a second search, paperwork rounds and the “introduction” to Death Row. As if she needed it. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the system. And Death Row was something Elliot had spent a fair amount of time gathering information on. The vulgar display of violence, the unjust treatment, the battles. She knew all about it. But that sure as hell didn’t make her ready to be part of it.

“Fuck you.” She responded as the man retreated from the room, offering her a hard-lined grin as he whistled a tune, disappearing from her vision and hearing all together. It was a lucky thing he hadn’t struck out, hadn’t reacted for her back talking. But she put no faith in that, she knew it would likely just be the first mark against her to be gathered up and paid for at a later time.

Elliot turned again and glared at the camera in the upper left corner of the room, exerting her middle finger and a smile at it before she dropped herself onto the bunk. No rest could be spoken of though, the pounding in her head was too strong. So she leaned against the wall that stretched along the bed and stared absently at the wall, slipping into a waking dream.

[CommunistZed]

David

Death Row
January 20th, 2037
9:30 PM
Walking into his Luxury Isolation Unit, David looked around at the neatly-furnished room. He had a decent-sized bed, a clean and sanitary bathroom (complete with toilet, shower-bathtub, and a sink and mirror), an antique grand piano with classical sheet music, a uniform-Yellow Canary, and a record-player. He had a small bookshelf of reading material and sheet music, and he walked over to it, bending over to look for the night's piece. He found it, Chopin's Piano Sonata No. 2, and before striding to the piano, made sure the Canary was fed, then proceeding onwards. As he sat down, and put his fingers to the keys, his mind started to reflect on the day's events.

Several hours before
He had just finished his breakfast, and was drinking a cup of coffee, when the three men came up.
"This is one of the toughest guys here? This white guy?" The one in the middle spoke, obviously a new inmate. "Hey, be careful man, he's dangerous." The one on the right spoke up. "Nah, he don't look too tough, I can take him," The new one said. "Hey white boy, you don't look so tough to me. Why don't you prove it."
In response to this, David stood up, finishing his coffee, walked up to the trio, cup in hand, and swung the ceramic cup at the new inmate, breaking it to pieces, and sending the inmate's teeth flying bloodily out of his mouth. As the new inmate collapsed to the ground, David punched the one on the left in the throat, before either of them knew what had happened, and then grabbed the fork from his meal and plunged it into the jugular of the one on the right. As the right one tried to stop the flow of blood pouring out of his jugular, and the left one was bent over, coughing, David grabbed the left's head and gave it a quick twist, breaking his neck. With two dead, David looked to the third, the new inmate, who'd collapsed on the ground. David promptly raised his leg and brought it down on the man's head, smashing his skull.

As the sonata ended, David stopped playing, stood up, walked to the bed, and went to a calm sleep.

[Azseth]

Kazuya “Akuma” Hatori.

Tacoma, WA.
December 4th, 2036.
16:30.

Kato Kenji stood in the empty conference room of a now-abandoned warehouse, smiling from ear to ear as he watched 2 men drag his most feared enemy towards him. The room was lit fairly well but empty, save for a lone chair in the relative center of it.

The Kenji clan had been tasked with wiping out Hatori presence in America. It wasn't easy. Today, one couldn't go to open war very easily due to the ever-looming presence of the new government. Things had to be done behind the scenes or you had to have a LOT more money to shell out than in the years past. While most crime syndicates were shook, some even dissolved, the Yakuza flourished. They had always operated from behind a veil of secrecy so it was nothing new to them. In fact, it almost helped them. The other organizations were scrambling, some even fighting amungst themselves. They were easy pickings.

More importantly, the Hatori's were the oldest clan save for 3 of the 5 Sky Council families. One of those "New Sky" clans were the ones that sent the Kenjis to handle the growing threat of the Hatori's, and it was a great honor. This would get the Kenjis in good graces with a Council clan. They needed this. But because of the age and honor of the Hatoris, it was VERY hard to get any of them to turn. There were 7 me in the room: Kato, 5 Hatori clan members and another Hatori, but this one was an ACTUAL Hatori, by blood.

Kato smiled even wider as all of these thoughts raced through his mind and the men roughly threw the man into his chair. Speaking in Japanese, one of the thugs looked to Kato and asked, "cuff him boss?" Kato nodded and the other thug moved behind him, got on his knees and Kato heard that satisfying SNAPAPAPAP of the cuffs.

"Well Hatori. Finally you have been brought to heel."

The seated man lifted his head and looked up, the two met one another's gaze. "Kato. I should have known. You are foul and cowardly, even for a Kenji." He smirked as Kato shot forward and hit him in the face, which only made the seated man smirk a bit wider.

"Fuck you Hatori. You and your fucking clan are greenlit, starting with you. You thought you could take the seat of the Hiito's out from under them and they would allow it?" The seated man laughed suddenly, slowly, but building as Kato continued to talk. "When I'm done with you here, your family will be shamed. Then they'll be knocked back down into place." More laughing. Kato turned his back to the seated man angrily, took a deep breath and relaxed.

"What the fuck are you laughing at boy?"

Immediately after asking the question, something broke the silence--the distinct sound of the hammer of a gun cocking. Kato didn't move, but he looked at all of the Hatori clan members who had spread out all over the room, all of them had their arms crossed over their chest, hands on their biceps or forearms. And all of them were looking at Kato, faces void of any emotion. Suddenly, breaking the silence again was the sound of the handcuffs hitting the floor, sliding to the front of Kato for him to see. He slowly turned around...

"I am Hatori Kazuya, son of Ichiiro. You, Kato, are a fool. Not only do you over look the loyalty of my clan. You run your mouth and tell me everything I was hoping to hear."

Kato turned and his eyes locked on Kazuya's again. He had a pistol in his hand.

"When I am done resolving our issue here Kato, I'm going to visit you family. Then, with the information I got from you, and WILL get from them, my family and their allies are going to have a talk with the Council. And when the Hiito clan is outcast for openly targeting another Clan, they'll have you to thank."

Kato opened his mouth to say something, but Kazuya snapped his pistol up and shot fired, the round hit Kato in the neck. He fell down, blood flowing freely as he tried in vain to stop the life blood painting the floor a deep crimson.

Kazuya strolled over, wiping the blood from his lip and without a word, fired a round into the face and one into the heart of his former enemy.

***


Death Row: Inbound Processing Area.
January 19 2037.
21:00.

Kazuya’s head was still a bit fuzzy after waking up from transport. All prisoners were put under for transport and he was no exception. He woke up feeling like he had overslept and was getting over being drunk. His thoughts began to clear very quickly though as he and other prisoners were herded out and into lines. Many looked around in awe, some in fear, some in anger, but everyone was taking in what was before them. Death Row.

He walked forward slowly, looking around. Men in front of him were moved to a viewing area and strip searched, which he frowned at. They were stripped and put into prison clothes prior to loading, but this was probably a way to intimidate the new inmates. ‘Sure it won’t be the last attempt to break us down,’ he thought.

He frowned, knowing he was going to be thrown into the lot as some sort of fighter, which didn’t sit well with him. Back on Earth, he heard of the shelf life of anyone cast for any sort of entertainment, and usually it wasn’t long. Sure, they got a nice comfy cell IF they lived long enough, but if they did live long enough, the usually didn’t live long enough AFTER that.

He stepped up again and was in front of a uniformed clerk at a desk. “Left arm,” said the clerk with a yawn. When scanned a name came up on the screen, but…it wasn’t right, it wasn’t him. “Kazuya Hitiri” was the name that came up. He had to make a decision.

“That your name Jackie Chan?”

Kazuya nodded. “Guilty of breaking and entering, identity theft and impersonating a police officer. Sentence (yawn) 7 years. Occupation, mess duty. Get the fuck on.”

He was waved through and moved into the strip down area. “Movie movie PF Chang,” another guard said to him in a degrading mock Asian accent, giving him a shove in the small of his back. He began to strip down and held his arms up as instructed while the several scans ran their course. A green light flashed and he was waved through again. He was given an outfit that he put on, then a box with other items, hygiene, clothing, things of that nature.

There was another inmate laid out on the floor with three guards holding him down roughly. The inmate was babbling and from what it looked like, he had tried to flee as he was still handcuffed.

He was given another shove in the back and moved forward as he and 3 other inmates were escorted to their new cells. When he stood in front of his own cell, he was given another rough shove forward, all the urging he needed to get into his cell.

“Kazuya,” the guard said as he pulled him close and whispered, “your family says thanks. This was all they could do for you. Stay alive, finish your sentence, and come home. They’re now on the council.”

The guard then shoved him and yelled loudly, “I said get moving, fucker. Welcome to Death Row.”

[TheStinger]

Miami, Florida.
April 11th 2032.
15:35.

Max was in his hide-out with his boss, cuban drug lord Victor Garcia. It was somewhere at the edge of Miami, in an abandoned junkyard, that also posessed a medium-sized warehouse. This place has been safe for Victor and his men so far but they had no idea things were about to change. Max was walking around together with his boss, watching as Victor's men were making drugs for shifting upon the streets. "You know Max? I thought alot about it and I think it would be better if we move into another country." Said Victor with his latin accent. "We will do that after we finish making and distributing these drugs and after I get my money from them of course." He said. "But where will we go?" Asked Victor. "Well my friend I have been dying to return to my native Cuba for a long time now. And in a few days we will do that. Since Cuba and the United States are not exactly friends I know we will be able to live peacefully there without worrying that we will be picked up and caged like animals." Responded Victor. Then all of a sudden one of Victor's men barges inside the warehouse, running towards the drug lord and shouting with all his lungs so that everyone can hear him. "Los soldados están llegando. Los soldados están llegando." Which basically meant...Soldiers are coming. Every person in the warehouse stopped making drugs, pulling out AK-47 assault rifles and took position as the soldiers bursted in with their guns pointed forward. "United States Army, you are all under arrest. Put down your weapons and come peacefully or we will be forced to take more drastic measures." Said a high ranked soldier.

But Victor's men didn't listen. They were determined to go down fighting. Even if that might result in their deaths. The US soldiers took cover as well, a firefight braking out a few seconds later. Max grabbed Victor by his left arm as they both ran away. "Come on, we can't stay here." Said Max with a calm tone. Both men got out through a back door and ran through the immensity of the junkyard, towards the exit. "We need to get out of here. There is an airfield, not far from here, from which we can take a plane and get the hell out of here." Said Victor as he stopped to take a breath. Gunshots could be heard coming from the warehouse. That meant the firefight was still on, which was good because that kept the soldiers busy and Max could escape with Victor. The two men started running towards the exit again and stop somewhere near a vehicle wrapped in a piece of cloth. Victor takes the piece of cloth off, revealing an old 2012 BMW M5 in very good shape. Before the two men could get inside, Max takes a look at the exit gate, which was guarded by a soldier. "Stay here! I'll go and take care of that guy, then i'll come back." Said Max as he watched Victor get in the passenger's seat. Max walks stealthily, using the multitude of old, abandoned vehicles as cover. When he got a few feet away from the soldier who was guarding the exit gate, Max pulls out his Colt 1911, grabs it with both hands and rests them on the hood of a car as he pointed the gun forward, towards the soldier. Max prepares his shot, looks through the sights and closes his left eye. "Come on Max! Just like at target practice. How hard can it be." Said Max as he was encouraging himself.

Seconds later Max fires his 1911 two times shooting the soldier both times in the chest. Then he runs towards him, checking if he is dead. He then sees two other soldiers coming his way. They probably heard the gunshots and wanted to check it out. Max puts his 1911 back in the holster and grabs the dead soldier's M4 carbine as he ran back to the position from which he shot before, waiting for the 2 soldiers coming this way to arrive. About a minute later, they show up at the gate and one of them checks out the soldier. After realising that he is dead he tells the other one that and they both start walking cautiously forward and pointing their M4's in all directions. Using the car as cover Max crawls towards the front side and then slowly lifts himself up, pointing the M4 at the soldiers who now were with their backs at him. Max takes advantage of the fact that they were compacted into a group of 2 and fires off the M4 he took from the dead soldier at both of them. The soldiers didn't had time to react and after about 10 shots in full auto fired by Max they were both lying on the ground dead. Max throws the M4 on the ground and goes back to Victor, getting on the driver's seat and starting the car. "It's OK now. We can leave." Said Max as he started the car, turned it around and drove outside of the junkyard towards the location of the airfield, guided by Victor.

Miami Swamps, Florida.
April 15th 2032.
16:42.

Max and Victor arrived at the airfield, about 15 minutes after escaping from their hide-out. But the place was shut down and there were soldiers everywhere, pattroling. One of them spots both men and Max had to kill him too, raising his bodycount to 4 soldiers killed in only one day. Now, 4 days later, they were in the swamps outside of town. They were walking on foot, because the car got stuck somewhere and they had to abandon it. "So what are we going to do now Max? Huh? We are finished. Like I told you at the junkyard before we left, there was a plane waiting for me at that airfield, whenever I had to leave the country.That plane was my ticket out of here, but tyhe airfield was shut down and there were soldiers everywhere. Gooooood why? WHHHHHHY?" Said Victor as desperation grew inside him. Not long after that, US soldiers sprung out from all directions, pointing their rifles at them. The bastards were hiding in the tall grass, waiting. Max pulls out his 1911, out of desperation but it was useless. They were too many. Discharging that gun would have meant certain death for both him and his boss. One of the soldiers takes the gun from Max's hand as he was beying arrested. But Victor didn't want to give up. He jumped a soldier, taking his M9 from his holster and pointing it at his head. "Stay back! STAY BACK! Or I swear to God I will kill myself here and now." Shouted Victor with the M9 at his head. "I will not be sent to that piece of shit prison on the Moon and caged like some animal. No! I prefer to die as a free man, then to live in a cage for the rest of my life. Adios Max! Live hard and don't let them crush your spirit!" Said Victor as he fired off the gun, blowing his brains off.

Court of Law, Miami, Florida.
April 15th 2032.
21:00.

Only 4 hours and 38 minutes after beying arrested, Max was already in court, awaiting conviction. His parents had no idea he was arrested, only Rosa Gonzales, a female detective, who shares a past with Max, knew of his arrest and she was there, sitting somewhere in the back. "Okay Mr. Maxwell Green. You are accused of illegal fighting, association with a head of organised crime, most specifically cuban drug lord Victor Garcia, who took his own life, earlier today and also assault and battery, intimidation and most importantly the 4 murders you commited today. Did you know that 2 of those 4 soldiers you killed today had a wife and child? How do you plee?" Asked the judge with a disgraceful look at Max. "Guilty! And my name is fucking Max. Nobody calls me Maxwell. And don't act like you care about the people. You are all nothing but a bunch of filthy tyrants, together with that asshole who sits at the White House having the nerve to call himself president." Said Max vizibly disturbed by this whole situation. "I would advise you to measure you words carefully next time you speak Mr. Green. You are doying damage only to yourself. But I love it so much when criminals confess their crimes so fast." Said the judge arrogantly. After a few moments of silence the judge finally says the verdict. "Mr. Maxwell Green, by the power invested in me by the state of Florida and this great nation, I hereby sentence you to 200 years in the Death Row prison on the moon." Said the judge. After hearing the verdict, Rosa's eyes became watery, as she started crying. "Two hundred years? Are you out of your fucking mind? By then even my bones will be dust." Shouted Max as two guards took him away. Max could feel the blood in his veins boiling fast. Using his strength he overpowers the 2 guards and runs towards the judge who was leaving the court room. Max grabs the wooden hammer used by judges to declare the end of a case and runs towards the judge, grabbing him by his neck and slamming him against the wall. "See you in hell." Said Max as he hit the judge in the head with the wooden hammer 5 times, until a guard used a taser he had upon him to neutralise Max. But for the judge it was too late. Max killed him.

Death Row.
January 20th 2037.
21:36.

Max woke up abruptly in his cell as he was looking around in all directions and breathing fast. Then all of a sudden he calms down and gets off of his bed, going towards the bathroom. "I can't believe I had this nightmare again. It's the 11th time already." Said Max as he wiped off the sweat from his forehead and turned on the water, resting his hands on the sink. Max grabs water in his palms and throws it on his face. He does that 4 times and closes the water as he was staring at his image in the mirror with his left hand resting on the sink and with the right hand wiping off the water from his face.

[Azseth]

Kazuya “Akuma” Hatori.

Death Row Chow Hall.
January 20 2037.
06:35.
He replayed a conversation he had last night with one of the other Asian inmates, another Japanese prisoner. “Look, they watch you an’ stuff, but they don’t WATCH watch you. There is too many of us here to have eyes on us always. So usually they jus’ like, review the footage or something if something major happens. If something is happening, they won’t usually have eyes on you. So that’s good an’ bad. You’re getting your ass beat, you’re fucked. If you’s beating someone’s ass, you got a good amount of time, you know? I hope you can fight. There’s a lotta Asians, yeah, but we’re Jap, Chink, Flip and whatever else. The blacks, whites and browns, they all are the same shade of whatever. We’re different. We don’t like the chinks, they don’t like us.”

Kazuya didn’t like this guy, he looked like a rat, his eyes were darting back and forth and he seemed scared as they ate, hunched over their trays. Kazuya had never been to jail or prison but he HAD been talked to about it by other family members. Most Yakuza had members that have been in jails or prisons all around the world, and each one was different. The Row was no exception, it was the same but different.

When he was done, he got up and moved to the trash line, noticing more than a few eyes on him, sizing him up most likely as was to be expected. He stood next to the garbage as a guard ran inventory on the items on the tray to make sure all items that were issued were returned. It was a hefty offense to be missing items, especially silverware and most people would fight at the table and accept that penalty before being caught missing a knife, spoon or fork.

He was surprised to learn that there were no “locked down schedules” meaning that a prisoner could take a 10 minute breakfast and go right to showers, or take 25 minutes and skip a shower. He suspected that, behind the veil of a super tight maximum security prison, the guards here really didn’t give a shit. If a prisoner was back in his cell when he needed to be, what the fuck difference did it make?

In watching the guards, there were generally two types. The first, didn’t really give a shit about the prisoners. They didn’t watch them, didn’t scope them out. They would sometimes harass prisoners, some more than others, and generally acted as if the inmates were vermin. They were here to collect a paycheck. Already he heard that some guards here could be bought out and called on for favors, but Kazuya wasn’t ready for that yet. He had to test the waters first.

The other type was the hyper vigilant, generally power hungry asshole. These guys were prone to push and shove, almost harass prisoners, although here it wasn’t look at as harassment, it was “maintaining security of the facility.” They would accost you, toss your room, randomly search you. They’d break up conversations in the chow hall. And contrary to what one may think, these were the ones that were usually more easily bought out.

Death Row Shower Facility.
January 20 2037.
07:02.
It felt nice to have a hot shower. The showers were large, open areas with, depending on the room, 7-10 heads on each wall. He was in there for maybe 2 minutes before he realized something was afoot. Two large hispanic inmates walked in and immediately had their eyes on Kazuya. Worst still was that the other 4 guys showering up and left after the 2 entered, only one other hispanic stayed. Deciding to follow suit, Kazuya started to move but the three all blocked his way.

“Hey, Jay, look what we got, fresh asian. I haven’t had me some asian in a while. Fresh asian at that.”

The other two leered at Kazuya menacingly, while Kazuya’s mind raced on what to do. One of the guys was large, that one was Jay and he didn’t say anything and had a very stupid look about him, so he was most likely a bodyguard. The mouth, he was most likely someone important in some Latino gang. The other guy didn’t seem anything, just here to try to get a piece of free ass.

“I don’t want trouble,” he said, laying on the accent heavily. “They watch us on camera.” He pointed quickly at the camera which prompted a laugh from the trio. The three didn’t react to the sudden movement, which immediately told him that they were not expecting a fight. “Yeah, some’a them enjoy seein’ what they ‘bout to see. Look chink, ya can do it on’a two ways, let it happen, and shit, maybe enjoy this. Or we can fuck ya while you’s bleeding and out cold.”

Jay smiled and the third guy chuckled and the leader continued, “and as ya can see Jay here would rather bust ya up and watch. He gets off on that shit. Whatever though. Whaddya think asia?”

Kazuya smirked and lifted his chin, “Or you go fuck yourselves and let me go, it’d be a lot easier on the three of you.” His english was all but perfect now and, although that fact escaped the three, the fact that this guy was posturing up and was not giving into their threats took them somewhat by surprise.

“Jay,” said the leader and instantly the big man stepped forward and swung out in a slow, lazy hook aimed at Kazuya’s face. Timing a spin perfectly, the punch clipped him in the head, but Kazuya spun and threw out a low foot sweep, and the affects were devastating.

Jay, being a thug and not a fighter didn’t expect any fighting prowess from the little asian in front of him, nor did he understand how training and practice could over come brute strength, and furthermore, he didn’t realize how unsure his footing would be on the wet tile as his legs were swept out from under him from about the knees. His legs and hips seemed to be up in the air too quickly, which then snapped his shoulder and head towards the tile and it SMACKED loudly. Kazuya saw right away that not only did the man’s shoulder dislocate, but his head smacked off of the tile in a way that Kazuya knew meant he would not be getting up, he would be carried out.

The reaction from the other two were not what he planned, but it was great. The guy on the wall took off running screaming for guards while the leader came at Kazuya, seeing him slumped down after having taken the shot to the head and started throwing punches. Knowing he was watched, and knowing the potential repercussions of injuring one that appeared to have enough clout to require a bodyguard led him to do just enough to hold his own, taking more punches than he was throwing, and landing very few. Eventually Kayuza ended up huddled on the floor while the inmate threw punches and a few kicks, but the floor was too wet and slippery for there to be any real force behind them and not too long after that, he heard the thuds of heavy boots on the floor as the guards entered.

Kazuya had a swollen eye and a fat lip but he was a lot better off than Jay, who was alive but just coming to consciousness as the guards showed up. When they started asking questions, no one knew anything. Jay said he fell, the leader, who was called Paulo, said that there was no fight. He claimed to be helping up Jay was all.

Then all eyes turned to Kazuya, “hey zip, what the hell happened here. Did these two men assault you?”

Without thinking, he started to give the same story, again laying on the thick, ridiculous accent, “No. Beega man fall an heeta hayd. I seeya blood, I passa out and heeta head. I okay. Do mya leep bleed?”

“Shut the fuck up and get out of here, back to your fucking cell. You too Paulo, piece of shit.”

The two went for their towels and dried off, Paulo eying Kazuya menacingly, but also nodding slightly in respect for keeping his mouth shut. The two quickly got clothed and went their separate ways. Back in his cell, Kazuya tried to relax and clean himself up, but was also thankful for he knew he dodged a bullet with the big man not dying. He was sure that while prisoner on prisoner violence was not uncommon, killing a prisoner would draw a lot more attention.

“Fucker must be all skull and no brain,” he said with that one of a kind smirk.