"Fucking drongos," another voice said as the door slowly creaked open. Karate Bastard had hardly noticed his months in incarceration, spending the majority of his time in meditation. The collars and bracelets they had slapped on him weighed him down, prevented him from exercising and feeling the full benefits of the power within him. But KB had not been unprepared for his escape. Up until now, his plan had been to wait for a human guard, then rip off the man's face and wear it as a mask in order to fool security and make good his departure.

But an outside agency busting him out? Not quite as dramatic, but it would do. He'd hate to think he was accepting charity, but at the same time, "never look a gift horse in the mouth." A phrase Hiram Walker had been fond of. The man in Texas who had taught him how to fight with a Bowie knife, before Keith took the liberty of crushing his skull. Good times.

As the nullifiers failed, KB felt strength surging back into his limbs. Bloody hardout, that was. Time to get back in the swing of things, no two ways about it. Without a second to lose, Karate Bastard ripped the orange top of his prison jumpsuit away, exposing his well-formed physique to the chill air of the underwater prison as he lurched forwards into the hallway.

The normal silence of the prison block corridor was shattered by the sounds of Keith's extended kata as he prepared himself for battle. Part elaborate gymnastics, part calisthenics, part slapping his own elbows and knees, mostly a lot of high-pitched screaming, KB worked out the kinks before assuming a combat stance. "Right, mates, let's fucking do this!" he yelled to mostly empty air.