Bang!

The sudden slap on the wooden table caused Christopher to look up — though he should have known the source of it before he even checked. Of course it was Ryan. Christopher looked up and folded his hands together, resting his chin atop them as he looked across the long, oak table down to his adopted son. “...yes, Ryan? He asked softly, wondering what his son’s reason for being so suddenly loud was.

Ryan jumped out of his seat — really, he was out of place in the boardroom, where the Bishops met. Not dressed in a three piece suit like the rest of them, Ryan wore a black t-shirt that said ‘welcome to LS’ on the front and on the back ‘WE HATE YOU’ in big bold white letters, had a pair of bluetooth headphones wrapped around his neck, a pair of loose fitting jeans, and expensive sneakers. “I got it, man.” Ryan said, nodding as he thought about it in his head. Yeah, this plan could totally work. Motioning with his hand, Ryan pointed at the model of the prison that had been set up in the middle of the desk. “Blitz play. Check it out. What you do is you give me and that pyromaniac, Charlie, one of those insurgents — you know, those big ass trucks Merryweather uses? And, well, I mean… The prison has to have a place for prisoners to like… be outside, right? So we take the insurgent, and we strap a rocket launcher on it… can you get one of those?” Ryan said, turning his attention to Grant.

The youngest of the Bishops shrugged his shoulders. “I might know a guy that has something like that… This plan doesn’t make any sense though.”

“That’s because it’s fucking stupid. What is the point of running a hole through the wall of the prison? What good does that do us? That just lets everyone out.” Christopher said, looking at his son with a disappointed glare in his eyes.

Haruma also looked displeased with such a ridiculous proposal. The suited male crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in the conference room chair, drawing attention to himself. Harry was thoughtful for a moment, and then backed up Christopher’s doubt with some of his own. “You want to… drive a truck, that will be armed with explosives, through the wall of the prison that my daughter is in. Am I understanding you correctly?” There was a measure of overprotective fatherliness in his tone, something that was usually well-hidden in his activities with The Syndicate.

“It’s not ‘armed’ like ‘armed’ to go boom, it’s ‘armed to shoot the wall’ armed.’” Ryan said, glancing over at Harry, before turning his attention back to his father. He had more explaining to do, as they obviously didn’t fucking get it...

“You see, that’s the beauty of the plan! We have our guys on the inside start a riot during playtime, and you get me a few snipers — long, long range at the points here, here and here,” Ryan said, placing coins down on the table to represent his snipers, then tapped the five guard towers on the prison model, “to take out the watch towers here, here, here, here, and here while I’m flying up to it, we unload the explosive and let ourselves into the playpen where the prisoners are all out and about. We’ll have to have someone airdrop in a cargo box, weapons, you know. And the masks of the people we’re in there to get. Now, you’re probably still asking yourself: ‘why break everyone out instead of just snagging our guys?’ Because, if we let everyone out, then they won’t focus on us! Because they’ll have to deal with everyone, right? So, we start a riot, break a hole in the wall, and arm the prisoners. Boom. The cops have more problems to deal with than they could have ever dreamed of, and I’ll get our guys out alive and in one piece, and bring them to the meeting point in Blaine County. I haven’t got that far yet, but I got a few days to think about it, and I’ll come up with an equally brilliant escape plan.”

Christopher looked down at his lap and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Haruma was staring at the boy, stone-faced. Grant had a bemused look on his face. Ryan, however, was dead serious:

“It’s goddamn fucking brilliant, dammit!”

Well, someone had to drive this forward, and Grant figured it might as well be him. “Okay, but you know explosives wouldn’t break through the prison wall, right? A crew tried that a few years back. Cracked it and didn’t even make a hole big enough. So, we could crack it, but then what? If you can’t get inside, this whole plan is fucking stupid.” Christopher shot the Bishop a look, but Grant just shrugged. Not like any of them had a better plan.

Ryan nodded and tapped his head. Oh, yeah, he’d covered that base. “Yeah, I thought about that. We’re gonna put a big ass spear head — you know, like a diamond? — on the front of the truck, and Cody over there is gonna rip the engine it comes with out and put a 1200 horsepower Coquette engine in it. Then we’re gonna crack the wall with the missile launchers, and spear right through it. Weaken it, end it. Doesn’t have to be a clean hole, we just gotta get through it.”

Christopher glanced over at Cody as he sipped at the glass of water. If this would work, Cody would know. Cody stroked his chin for a moment and leaned back in his chair. “That could work. I think with a big enough plow and 1200 horse, it could break through the wall. We can test it, maybe, but I’m confident. I can get it done.”

“You can’t have the plow and the rocket launcher.”

“Right, that’s why you’re handing Charlie the rocket launcher. Strapping it on wouldn’t work, I didn't think about that. But she could blast a hole while we’re driving, I trust her.”

“What about getting out? You know, you have to leave after arriving, right?” Christopher said coolly, looking over at Pyotr. His old friend shrugged his shoulders and adjusted himself in his chair. Truly, this plan was — while not quite as ingenious as Ryan seemed to think — was rather solid. Breaking everyone out of the prison rather than just their people was a good move. It’d keep the attention off of the Syndicate for a bit, and maybe they could make moves on a bigger set.

“If we are doing this, and this is a pretty sizable if, we need to have everything planned out perfectly beforehand. I can get you the firearms that are required in less than a day’s time, that is not the problem. What is a problem is that this is extremely public, uncomfortably so. How many men will we need? Who is going to fly the plane? And the getaway drivers?” Haruma spoke up again, he was calmer than before and took on his usual ‘strictly business’ tone - cold, calculating, and logical.

“Me, Charlie, the three snipers, a dude in a plane. I’m thinking Judah in the plane—”

“That kid you do coke with at the strip club…?”

“One and the same. He’s got a lot of flight experience. He can handle a plane.” What? Microsoft flight simulator counted, dammit. He just wouldn’t specify. Plus, how hard could it possibly be!? You started the plane, flipped a few switches, pulled up, pushed down as needed and flew. Easy, the Jewmeister could handle that. Probably. “He’s cool, dude. Yes, I know a plane is rather hard to lose attention with, which is why he’ll be bailing out of the plane and straight into the lake. No guts, no glory. As for the escape plan, I’m gonna put the crazy Chinese bitch — Zoey or whatever — here, with a Sanchez for each of us.” Ryan explained, putting another coin on the table, roughly a half mile away from the prison.

“We make it there on foot, with the distraction of the armed riot, and she’ll lead us out. She’s good at coming up with good hiding places and shit, trust me. She can lead us to safety. So, thirteen people total. Think you can get thirteen bikes?” He said, looking over at Grant, who gave a nod. Thirteen bikes? Please, that was child’s play. Ryan clapped his hands together and looked over at his father, “That’s the plan. It’s perfect.”

Christopher paused before turning his attention to Pyotr. Speaking in Russian, Christopher engaged his old friend in conversation: “It is a stupid plan.” He said bluntly, but Pyotr shook his head.

“It is a dangerous plan. It is a risky plan. It is a loud plan, different from what we normally do. But it is not stupid, and you shouldn’t dismiss it as such because it comes from Ryan. He’s right, stirring up trouble like that would be nothing but a good thing for our organization. The question comes down to whether you think it is worth the risk of losing him.” Pyotr responded, and Christopher shook his head.

He didn’t care about losing Ryan, or really any of the people in the pen. Haruma would be a bit of an issue if his daughter was in prison for a long time, but did Christopher care? Not really. But, this… was right. With Pyotr’s approval, the plan already was starting to sound better in his head. “No, the boy is better dead than dull. We’ll move forward with it.”

“I don’t speak fucking commie dammit!”

Christopher turned his attention back to his son. “We’ll do it. Well, leader. Go and lead. Everyone else… He’s basically told you what’s needed. Get it together.”

Meeting adjourned.

With dark shades on, Julian glanced down at his wrist watch while all his subordinates stood before him, waiting for their instructions, in the heat of Blaine County desert. For once, he wasn't completely decked out in an extortionate suit. He wore a leather jacket, a white collared long-sleeved shirt, and rugged jeans. Julian was a man with many obligations. Not all of them required him to look like he was going to a cocktail party and keeping an eye on an influential socialite that his employer would kill for.

Their current location was flat and barren. Satan's solarium. His eyes gazed up from his watch, as he slowly began to turn his sigil ring on his finger. The only sounds that could be heard were the breaths coming out of everyone’s mouths.

That is, until he spoke.

"You know why you're here. To retrieve those that failed. The plan itself is excessive, but it should work. Don't come back empty-handed, and keep your tracks clean. You know the drill." His toneless, yet modulated voice echoed through the desolate desert, "Let's get straight to business."

Julian approached the first group of people (Ryan, Charlie, Zoey, Jeff, and Eloise), but continued to address the entire team.

"At 1430 a riot will happen. It is currently 1412. The county jail never fails to stay on schedule, one slip and they will notice. Ryan is captain of this mission. When he says jump, you jump. Those of the same rank as him included. You five."

Julian continued to twist his ring while scanning the faces that stood before him. His eyes resting on the explosive enthusiast, Charlie, who wore a rabbit ski mask, hiding most of her features, "Will ride the Insurgent. Your objective: Break through the walls, retrieve your comrades in the masses, and get out of there." Julian gestured toward the vehicle, which held all the items that Ryan had requested during the conference.

"Zoey. Here." Julian handed her a small paper with coordinates: 43.7742° N, 114.1421° W. "You've been there before. Your job is to lead every man, and woman, after everything is all said and done, from point A to point B. Go past the lake and toward the mountains. Your rides will be waiting."

Stepping away from group 1, he strided toward the next group (Hugo, Eugene, Joey), who were all given sniper rifles prior to this, "The prison is broken into six blocks. A to F. There is a watchtower for each. Hugo will get A & B, the towers closer to the fields. Eugene, take C & D, and Joey, prove to me you can handle the rest. Your objective, make sure the Insurgent reaches the prison without someone dying. Take 'em out or be taken out." That group was predominantly Knights, so Julian would give them the benefit of the doubt and have faith they would go without a hitch.

Ah.

He stopped in front of the last group. The Pawns (Judah and Camille). He stood closer to them than he had with the others, so they could hear his voice loud and clear.

"Here's your chance to show us what you're made of. You two will be taking the air. While the truck is on the move and the snipers are doing what they do best. Sniping. You'll be transporting cargo into the fields. That cargo holds a mass amount of... bare essentials. Judah pilots. Camille pulls the leverage right when the plane hits the center of the riot. From there, dispose your vehicle. Dive it into the lake. Jump out. Meet up with the rest of your team and get your asses movin’. Got it? I don't care. Good."

Stepping back, Julian gave the Syndicate members a quick smirk before bringing his dark gaze back to his watch, "You have one minute and 27 seconds to get the show on the road or you'll be running out of time. Remember, Chess Pieces, failure is not an option. If it was, you'd all be dead by now."

"Alright, great, now if you'll excuse me." The King's Hand dismissed himself and walked away from the scene. He whistled his way to his silver T20 and before anyone could respond to him in anyway, he was gone.

Judah squinted his eyes to block out the blazing sun that was beating down on them as Julian gave a final debriefing. It was hotter than the devil’s ballsack out here, but that didn’t matter - that couldn’t matter - because it was go time. The young man would be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn’t nervous. He was most definitely nervous. The girl beside him looked still and focused, dark eyes flitting around, taking in the details of their surroundings and companions.

Never in his wildest dreams had Judah ever thought that he would be flying a plane. Yes, he had certainly dreamed of one day being wealthy enough to own a private jet, but to fly one? No, not quite. Surely, with that much money, he could simply pay someone else to fly him around. Yet, somehow his life had brought him here, to this moment, where his uncle had introduced him to a criminal world that he was previously unaware of.

Technically, if Judah got Camille and himself killed on this mission, these deaths would be one hundred percent on Jorge. Could the old man even handle that on his conscience? Judah couldn’t be too sure, he had thought that he knew his uncle pretty well, but his eyes were recently opened to a whole new world, now that he had joined The Syndicate himself. His uncle was a stranger to him and, hell, if he looked in the mirror too long, his own reflection was starting to look like a stranger as well.

Julian stepped close to Judah and Camille now, giving them their direct marching orders. The man was intimidating as all get out, but Judah and his fellow Pawn stood tall (relatively, in Camille’s case) and nodded at all the appropriate moments. Of course, Judah had already been told the plan by his buddy Ryan. What R had failed to mention was the very important ending to said plan. The relatively tan male’s face paled as he turned to Camille.

“Did he just say… dive it into the lake?” he asked for her confirmation, completely thunderstruck.

“Yes, I believe those were the words he used,” she responded in a calm voice. Camille was putting an unreasonable amount of effort into that ‘calm’. Unreasonable, like how asking two people to crash land into a lake while jumping out of a plane was unreasonable. It figured her first job with The Syndicate would be the one to get her killed.

She was still facing straight ahead when her eyes flicked up to his. He looked as panicked as she felt.

“I take it you haven’t done this before, then.” Wonderful. Two people in a plane with no clue what they’d gotten into.

“Voluntarily crashed a plane into a lake? No, can’t say that I have… you?” Judah replied snarkily and started walking towards the aircraft. They were on a time crunch, every second counted, and he wasn’t about to waste precious moments spreading seeds of doubt. He had also never successfully flown, nor landed, a plane in real life before, but she didn’t need to know that, what good would it do for morale?

Camille followed after him, trotting a bit to keep up with his damn long strides. The urge to bite back rose in her throat, the want to snap and cut.

“No, not yet,” she said instead. Calm. She needed to keep herself calm before she flung herself out of an airplane. She could freak out after she hit the water. “Have you at least flown a plane before?” Calm seemed to be failing her, as an edge leaked into her voice. The plane began to loom above them as they approached, casting an ominous shadow.

Judah felt his muscles go a little rigid as she asked the inevitable question. Obviously she wanted to know that, he probably would too, if he was in her place. Did that mean that he was going to answer her? Absolutely not. Instead, Judah opened the door to the cockpit and hoisted himself into the pilot’s seat. He needed a minute, more like a few milliseconds, to familiarize himself the controls before he actually attempted to get this fucking thing in the air. Such familiarization would happen best without the broad squawking at him.

That her question had been completely ignored did not go unnoticed by Camille. Which meant that the answer was no. After half a moment of hesitation, she forced herself into the plane after Judah. Who was this again? The friend of Helmsley’s son? The strip club worker? He was someone expendable, if they were sending him on a plane that he didn’t know how to pilot, to crash into a lake. And she was with him. Which meant that she was expendable too.

Camille huffed to herself as she took a moment to close her eyes and run her hands through her hair. She knew she didn’t matter to them. Not yet. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she counted to three in her mind. Then her eyes opened and she was calm again. They’d do this, they’d survive, they’d get away.

Glancing over at her companion once more (he seemed to be looking at the various gauges and gears like he was piecing together a sentence in a language he’d dropped out of in high school) she turned to try and figure out how to close the plane door.

The young man let out a long exhale as his eyes scanned the various controls. Yup, this was officially nothing like a flight simulator. His stomach felt knotted with nerves and nausea. He urged himself to just focus… there were the recognizable basics present, after all; The yoke in front of him - which was like a steering wheel, the throttle to the right of his legs - which controlled thrust, the six pack of flight instruments in the dash - which showed altitude and speed and the like, the landing gear controls - which they apparently wouldn’t be using all that much today, and finally the rudder pedals beneath his feet - which controlled, you guessed it, the rudders.

Judah heard the door shut and looked back to see that Camille was officially in the plane. She walked over and sat down in the copilot’s seat, eyes looking over the dashboard. Judah might’ve dropped this language, but it was one she’d never studied at all. Back straight, she looked out the window instead and began braiding her hair.

Was she seriously braiding her fucking hair right now? Honestly, Judah would never ever understand women, he wasn’t sure that he even wanted to. He had to give her credit though for being cool as a cucumber, while he was sitting in the cockpit trying not to vomit on the dash. At least she was pretty, that had to count for something. And she wasn’t freaking out and making things worse. Double plus.

“Try not to kill us.” Minus.

Turning his attention back to the controls, Judah powered on the engine. The whole plane roared to life noisily and Judah set his lips in a thin, straight line. Trying hard not to sound like a total dick, for whatever reason, he said: “I’ve got a lot of living left to do, I’m not dying today.” He then pressed the button in his earpiece to radio down to Ryan and the Ground Team. Camille refrained from responding as she tied off the end of her braid with a hairband.

“Ready for take-off,” he said rather cheesily, not bothering to wait for the response before pushing in the fuel mixture knob completely. Judah advanced the throttle and the engine’s RPMs picked up. Camille’s hands snapped to the armrests on either side of her, gripping them tightly as the plane roared. Not only was the engine much louder now, but the plane automatically started moving once thrust was generated. Shit, shit, shit. It wasn’t going straight, the whole plane was veering left. Judah’s brain whirled on how to counteract that… RUDDERS! Pressing the pedal gently, he managed to center the aircraft, then proceeded to grip the yoke for dear life. Beside him, Camille had squeezed her eyes shut, her lips pressed tightly together. In one heartstopping instant, it’d finally sunken into her that: her life was in this person’s hands.

The plane steadily crept along the makeshift runway. It had to build up speed before they had any hopes of getting this bird up in the sky. Judah pushed the throttle forward and watched the flight instruments intently as the knots climbed. The airspeed indicator turned a pleasant green once an adequate speed was reached and, at the same time, the nose of the plane started to lift up. That was the signal, Judah pulled back steadily on the yoke and up they went. Smooth sailing, mostly.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, not bothering to hold back anything anymore. One of Camille’s eyes cracked open. Judah’s stomach was still dancing, but less with nerves, and more with excitement now. He let out a hooting laugh. Another light flashed above the landing gear controls, indicating that Judah should bring up the landing gear, which he promptly did. If flying was anything like the simulators, the hardest part was done and over, besides landing… Which they weren’t doing today.

Camille’s eyes had both finally opened and she slowly began coercing her muscles to relax in her seat. Her hands were still painfully tight around the armrests.

“Congratulations,” she forced out. Her voice was less controlled now, more breathless and strained.

“Thanks, babe,” he said with a smirk, not bothering to tear his eyes away from his task to see her reaction. When this was over, and they weren’t dead - which they wouldn’t be - he was definitely going to steal a kiss. He had earned it. She finally looked at the ‘pilot’.

“You’ve had your first successful take-off. Please never fly again.” Judah frowned at that.

“Bitch, are we dead?” he snipped, his pride obviously a little wounded.

“Give it time, you’re still in the pilot’s seat,” she snapped back, a hard edge to her voice.

“Get back there and get ready to pull your damn lever.” Judah directed to her. Why was she still in her seat anyway? Camille bristled at the command, her spine straightening. She leveled her eyes in a glare at him for a long moment before standing up and walking to the back of the plane.

Very carefully removing one of his hands from the yoke, Judah pressed the button in his earpiece once again.

“Headed for the drop point, on target. Are you ready with the signal?” If he listened carefully, he could hear a scoff coming from somewhere behind him at his attempt at using tactical language.

“Ground Team to Air Jew, we are standing by for drop.” Ryan’s voice chirped into the receiver. Judah nodded at Ryan’s confirmation, which was a little bit stupid, because Ryan couldn’t see him doing so. Force of habit, he guessed, but then he realized what R had just said.

“The fuck did you just call me? I’m not even that Je--” Judah started defend himself and then scoffed. “Whatever… Incoming, Land Gentile,” he quipped and then got Camille’s attention by waving his hand.

“Okay, I’ll let you know when I see the flare. When I say ‘GO’, drop the load. Got it, Cami?” Judah smirked once again, proud of himself for the nickname that would likely irk his already irritated companion. Two zingers in a row, not bad for a man who was also flying a plane.

“Got it, Judy,” she called back. Judah’s eyes bugged and he actually turned to look at her this time. She seemed very focused on the lever in front of her. Cute, real cute. Shaking his head, Judah turned his eyes back to the windshield and looked down at the prison grounds below. The red light of the flare was visible in the near distance. Judah leaned forward, as if that would help him to see better, when they were exactly above it.

“Annddd…… GO!” Camille yanked on the lever.

“Atta girl!” Judah cheered jovially, and he was actually genuine about it. Camille glanced at him, the beginnings of a smile finding her as Judah’s excitement finally infected her. They had gotten the job done, at least the part that The Syndicate cared about. Now all they had to focus on was not being shot out of the sky… and diving the plane into the lake. No biggie, right?

“So… I hope you can swim,” he said matter-of-factly. Thankfully, he was a strong swimmer, not that he was particularly keen on testing that fact in such a manner.

“About as well as you can fly,” she muttered to herself, her smile dropping. Apparently his flying ability was ‘barely good enough to get the job done,’ so hopefully her swimming would be good enough, too.

“Oh, damn, didn’t know I was flying with an olympic gold medalist,” he joked. Joking was really helping to take his mind off of the fact that they were currently flying over the vast lake that they would soon be crash landing in. Well, it was kind of helping, as much as anything could help in this situation. Camille rolled her eyes, but silently, she was thankful for something to react to, other than the idea that they were about to jump out of a plane. Exhaling a steadying breath once again, Judah pushed the yoke forward, slowly tipping the nose of the plane towards the water’s surface.

It turns out that it is just that easy to start your aircraft on a crash course. Caught in the downward air currents, the plane careened down towards the lake at unnerving speeds. Camille started slowly, carefully making her way towards the door, trying to accommodate the new angle. Judah made a terrified, and slightly effeminate, yelping noise as he scrambled back into his seat.

“R, if I die right now. You tell your sister that I hate her guts, but she’s a damn good lay, and I’ll miss that,” he said quickly into the earpiece. Judah looked over at Camille and nodded. This was it, this pair of lovely brown eyes could be the last pair that he ever looked into.

“You’re a poet.” Camille couldn’t believe that this idiot was the last person that she’d ever talk to. Judah cracked a smile.

“See you down there, gorgeous,” he replied before turned to the cockpit door. He opened the emergency latch, setting off a cacophonous array of sirens as the pressure in the cabin went to shit. Camille was satisfied (while still terrified) when her hair stayed in its neat braid instead of going flying around her face and in her eyes. Forcing the door out with his shoulder, Judah cleared the path and jumped out of the opening towards the hungry waters below.

Camille was frozen where she stood as she watched him launch himself out of the plane. In a matter of seconds he hit the water. Two seconds. That’s all it was. Maybe a little longer. Certainly not three. Certainly not as long as she’d been standing here, trying to force herself out.

Pressing her eyes shut, she let out a deep, shaky breath. Two seconds. Finally regaining control of her muscles, Camille took three shaky steps back. Then she ran forward and jumped.

The dull gray paint peeled off of the ceiling like ash curling from the burning logs of a campfire. Ravyn stared up at it from her bed, as she had every day since her incarceration two weeks prior. It was unsightly. It was imperfect. It was… punishment.

Asuka had never found a reason to contemplate the meaning of the word ‘penitentiary’ before now. This hellhole was meant to be a place for penance, a place for her to repent for her sins. In Ray’s eyes, the work that she did for The Syndicate was not the sin; Not the lives she’d taken, nor the crimes she’d committed, nor any amount of damage that she had done. Her failure to complete the mission was a sin. Her failure to spot and snuff out a rat was a sin. Her failure itself was a sin, and for that, she would repent.

Penance looked anything but ordinary in the young japanese girl. There was no quiet meditation, no volunteer work, and no private prayers. She was a criminal, not a monk - though, the vow of silence that she’d taken since arriving could fool most people. The first week of her over twenty-five year long sentence was a brutal one. Ravyn went through flippant bouts of depression and intense rage. She hated herself for her inadequacy, but she hated everything and everyone around her even more.

Twenty-five years was a longer amount of time than she had been on this earth for; Her entire life would pass her by in that time. Ravyn’s best years would be spent as a caged bird. This isn’t what she had dedicated her life to, this isn’t what she had worked so hard for. Prison was the farthest thing from success, but... she had to make the most of it.

When you are locked up, you are stripped of everything but your reputation. It is all you have, and it is all that matters. So, Ravyn set to work building one up for herself. The first time that she had overheard someone calling her a chink, she turned around and decked them. They could have at least went with jap, and been accurate, if they were going to be tossing around slurs. Later that day, while waiting in the cafeteria line, some ho tried to elbow her way in front. Ravyn put her in her proper place: the ground. Similar tussles became an everyday occurrence and word spread.

Of course, reputations aren’t held solely among the prisoners. The guards also took notice of Asuka’s frequent violent outbursts, and she was put on watch. After one week, Ravyn no longer had a cellmate. The young girl was confined to a tiny, claustrophobic cell in the solitary block, and all of the time that she spent outside of it was carefully monitored by a guard from then on.

The day that Ray was pulled out of her closet-sized enclosure for a ‘meeting’ with her ‘lawyer’, she was suspicious, to say the least. Imagine her surprise when it turned out to be Julian and, better yet, The Syndicate had a plan! There would be a riot, at 2:30, on Tuesday. Unlike the other captured Syndicate members, Asuka was being monitored too closely to prepare something like a shank for the occasion. She had to lay low and ready herself in less obvious ways, like focusing on strengthening her body for hand-to-hand combat. Ravyn led an incredibly fit lifestyle before getting locked up through strength training and Jujutsu, and is by no means out of shape after two weeks in the clink, but it couldn’t hurt to keep in peak form.

Ravyn moved from the uncomfortable cot that passed as her prison bed for what would hopefully be the last time. Relocating to the floor, she began doing sets of pushups and crunches, alternating between them. Today was the big day. Tuesday. Riot day. At 2:30, she would have a second chance, and she truly couldn’t be more grateful for it. She would escape this place, or die trying. Either way, life in prison would end today. Asuka pushed her body to it’s limits, keeping her mind focused on the future, on tomorrow.

“Takahashi, it’s rec time. Let’s go, inmate!”

The young prison khaki-clad girl startled at the sudden voice of the guard outside her door. She sat up, breathing heavily from her exercise. The workout didn’t leave her exhausted, instead she found herself the energized and ready to rumble. Perfect. Asuka got up and brushed the dust from the ground off of her pants as she stepped out of the now open door and headed for the yard. The guard followed close behind her, keeping watch, as always. Kids that couldn’t play well with others didn’t get free time without a price.

Sweltering heat blanketed the prison yard as the sun baked the blacktop. It was great weather for a riot, everyone was already cranky from the temperature. It would only take a single strike to set the whole yard ablaze, and The Syndicate members would be the match.

Inmates were milling about, engaging in all of the usual rec activities: shooting hoops, lifting weights, running the track, low-key flashing gang signs, you know, the usual... Asuka looked around and took notice of her fellow Syndicate members. Everyone seemed to be in position, the plan was already in motion. She made her way to the track, which was her position, and started on a light jog. Her prison guard keeper, being the lazy CO fuck that he was, didn’t bother to keep up with her. He stood near the fence and watched her from a distance. Excellent, his fatass would never catch up when it came time for her to make her move.

The boys did a good job of kicking the riot off. Two-thirty was sounded off by screaming prisoners and the sound of flesh being punched and punctured. This was a co-ed prison, and there were many, many people that were both taller and stronger than her, so Ravyn had to choose her battles carefully. She may have started off the day weaponless, but she wouldn’t remain that way for long. The agile girl darted her way into the fray. It was a dangerous call, but it would be better to be within the crowd than outside of it when the guard towers started picking people off from the sidelines.

Ravyn caught sight of a prisoner that was taking out others with what seemed to be a sturdy, sharp shank. Asuka got the girl’s attention and taunted her into a fight. Using her martial arts background, which she was seriously thanking her overly-traditional father for right now, Ray managed to disarm the girl. Ravyn didn’t come into possession of the shank without taking a few hits, unfortunately. She’d have a shiny bruise on her cheek and a cut on her arm to tend to when this was over, but at least she was armed now and the girl was… well, she was dead. Or at least unconscious, Ray didn’t really care either way. She wasn’t a problem anymore.

“Where the fuck are the guns?” Asuka muttered in japanese, doing her best to defend herself from the hordes of rioting inmates. These were the first words that she had spoken on the prison grounds, and they felt dry and clumsy in her mouth. As if on cue, there was a loud crash as the insurgent burst through the west wall of the prison. Ravyn disengaged from the altercation that she was in and spun on her heel to face the sound. Thankfully, she didn’t receive the punch in the face that she had opened herself up to, because the other prisoners were also looking at the now giant hole present in the west wall. Nearly immediately after the insurgent’s arrival, a plane flew overhead and dropped a load of cargo boxes into the yard. Knowing exactly what those were full of, Ravyn took off in a dead sprint towards the crates.

Holy shit! Guns!

FREEDOM!

Aidan sat with his back on the bed, facing up towards the ceiling in quiet brooding. He thought about the same thing he’d thought about all the time since he first got here – he failed. He failed the heist, he failed the Syndicate... he failed Christopher Helmsley. However, another thought crept in this time; making its’ way into the centre of his brain and remaining there, loud yet silent. He was still alive. This wasn’t right. He was supposed to be dead right now – it was far too risky to keep a failed group alive, or else they might blab to the police, god forbid. But he wasn’t, and it (much to his surprise) scared the crap out of him. Though, as his mind drifted back and ran through the ridiculous plan thought up by Ryan Helmsley, he doubted he’d be alive much longer.

Despite his grievances, he was still up and ready to go when he was called out by the guard. 2:30 – or, as the military would say, 14:30 – was the time scheduled for the riot, and as he glanced over to his partners in crime, he was ready to deliver one. Prison life wouldn’t have been too hard for him to adapt to, if it weren’t for the select group of guards that decided to give him a hard time, no matter what he did. He guessed the rest of the imprisoned Knights would be in a similar situation, seeing as their presumed affiliation with the Syndicate could lead to some personal vendettas amongst the prison staff.

A rough shove from a guard snapped him out of his thoughts, and Aidan mumbled a string of curses under his breath as he looked to the ground, walking forward at a quicker pace. The clock in his mind counted down endlessly; ‘tick, tick, tick... tick, tick, tick...’, an agonising thirst for violence starting to kick in as the clock got closer to half past. He looked around for the rest of his group, his eyes meeting Tobias’. ‘Liberty’ gave the other man a quick nod, though his brow furrowed as Tobias looked away. Aidan was a very paranoid man, and the fact that the source of his failure was a rat, a stinking, lying, son-of-a-bitch rat, wasn’t helping this at all.

Soon enough, the thoughts swarmed his mind again, and the following ten minutes melted away. Before he knew it, he was plunged head-first into chaos as animalistic yelling erupted, and his eyes met the other side of the room as Tobias Torvalds himself took on a large group of Mexicans. The man in question was tough, sure, but as he took the brute force of a right hook, Aidan knew he had to try and intervene. A lot of the prison was getting pissed off. Quickly headbutting a guard and grabbing a baton, he rushed over to the Norwegian, slamming the baton down on the back of an angry prisoner’s neck.

“Christ, Torvalds. You really stirred one hell of a riot up.”

Tobias chuckled, finally aware of the other man that had appeared. Liberty, or Aidan. He preferred the latter, the former reminded him far too much of where he’d been in the past, and where...well, some shit had gone down. He kicked the prisoner away, as for a moment, the other inmates fought prisoners, and other guards rushing in.

“I made a distraction, didn’t I? No more words needed really…..now, any second...” Tobias added, as he heard the distant noise of an aircraft, as well as the noise of an engine. Something told him this was the escape plan. Guards were moving up from the towers, and firing sporadically into the air, as Tobias dived down, pushing Aidan back towards some concrete cover, as he peered over, knowing rounds weren’t going to fly up, but at the prisoners, if shit didn’t change, now.

“Fuck, any second now, I swear to God…...we go free or fucking die, you hear!” Tobias loudly yelled, fully embroiled in the moment, as he looked back at Aidan.

“This is where I run out of ideas.”

“I figured as much,” Shep quipped in response, slamming his baton outwards just as a prisoner ran past. It hit said prisoner straight in the neck, and they fell to the floor. “Damn, that’s gotta hurt. Anyways, if we want to get out of here alive, then we’ve got to do something. I knew it’d come to the age old philosophy of ‘idea vs execution’ when it came to this Helmsley kid. Let’s just hope the boys on the outside don’t fuck it up, huh? Wha- oh, shit!” Aidan ducked down just in time to avoid a punch, the fist aimed at him slamming into the wall instead. He stood up, grabbing a burly-looking man’s arm - the same one that just tried to squash his skull - and grunting as he flipped him over. Then, A proceeded to beat the man relentlessly with the baton.

“Oh- and Tobias?” He said, in-between beatings. The thirst for violence was kicking in a little. It usually didn’t get in the way of his jobs for the Syndicate, but something inside him was glad that he wasn’t technically on a Syndicate job - he could unleash his rage on anyone in here.

“Yeah?” Tobias replied, looking across at Aiden.

The man’s voice grew deep; almost a growl. “If you’re the guy that ratted us out, I promise I will personally hunt you down, and make your death fucking slow and agonising.” Every other word was accompanied by the baton smashing down on the already-dead prisoner’s skull, the last few words dragged out menacingly. Aidan suddenly perked up again. “And if not, you can help me do exactly that to the actual rat.”

Tobias grappled another prisoner, kicking him hard in the stomach, before shanking him clean with the screwdriver, looking across at Aidan, the comedy timing of the fact that they had begun kicking in heads again ringing in the Norwegian’s head.
“I think we all feel the same. If I was the rat, I’d have had a hell of a time picking which one to kill first, to take with me to hell. Take that as a compliment, right?” Tobias said, as the man on the floor groaned, as he kicked him hard, before a shot went off at his feet.
“Fuck!” With it, Tobias slid towards cover, and knew that well, they were being watched now.

“You mean that wasn’t a compliment?” Aidan joked, before giving his human punching bag one last hit. The baton was coated in blood, and there were red stains on his jumpsuit from where the blood had sprayed up. At least he was in a better state than the beaten up corpse at his feet. “All I know, is that if anyone isn’t fucking pissed over this rat deal, I’m pretty sure they’re the stinking rat themselves.” He kicked it away gingerly, the stench of blood wafting up his nostrils as he followed Tobias’ move, diving for cover. “Shit! How long before those useless assholes get here?!” He was getting angry now.

However, at that precise moment, the insurgent burst forth through the west wall of the prison. The entire riot practically stopped, as every prisoner located the source of the noise and stared for a brief moment at the giant hole in the wall - Aidan and Tobias included. Suddenly, chaos ensued. Prisoners rushed to get out, and the Los Santos native looked to the Norwegian as cargo boxes were dropped into the yard. It wouldn’t be long before stragglers would attempt to get into the crates; or, even worse, the guards started shooting to kill. “If we want to get out of here with our heads still attached - and guns in our hands - we gotta go, now.”

With that, Aidan took off, signalling for Tobias to follow. He quickly took down a prisoner trying to block the way, before spotting someone lunging for Tobias. “Torvalds, to your left!”

Tobias ducked, and slid the shank into the man’s abdomen, as he threw him down, kicking him in the head, before pulling the shank out with a twist. He didn’t bother finishing the man, spitting blood, looking back at Aidan, blood spitting occasionally from the man’s body onto the Norwegian.

“Noted. Behind you.” With it, Tobias threw the shank, almost as clean as he could, and it landed straight into a man’s temple, the guard carrying a shank of his own, as Tobias walked past Aiden, nodding.

“Let’s get some fucking guns, eh?” With it, the Norwegian pulled the shank out, as he moved forward, following close to Aidan, knowing they had to get to the supply that had been dropped in. Prisoners were getting armed, but none of them knew what the fuck they were doing, the gunfire erupting across the yard, as the firefights picked up.

“Glad to know you can handle yourself. I had a friend once, he was put into prison after we failed to rob a store - I wasn’t caught, of course - and he emerged an absolute pussy.” Aidan said, eyes trained entirely on the crate as he dodged blows. “Let’s just hope we can get some guns before they’ve all been taken by these idiots, eh?” He gestured to the general racket in the yard, “I knew there’d be a flaw in this plan. It’s fucking insane, how have we even gotten this far?” He wondered aloud, grabbing two SMGs and throwing one to Tobias. The Norwegian took the gun, a magazine loaded as he cocked the German-made weapon, the stock sitting gently against his shoulder, as he looked over at Aidan, finding a position of cover.

“Now, let’s get the fuck out of here.” Aidan shot down two guards, as Tobias took out another two on a walkway above, the two far more accurate, and precise to as to what was going on. They were no longer in the killzone of the crate, and Tobias hoped Kang, and Ravyn had followed the fucking plan, because the guards were going to cotton on soon enough.

“Agreed.” Tobias replied, as he flung another magazine in, knowing he had to use his ammunition sparingly. Sliding over the concrete barrier, he took out another set of guards ahead, the SWAT or response teams not here yet, rolling into cover as he took out another group. The muzzle of Aidan’s SMG flashed beside him, as he dropped guards on the opposite side of Tobias.

“Up on the walkway, more shooters!” Tobias yelled to Aidan, as he kept back, wanting to wait for the moment. Aiming before he shot, he shot carefully and accurately, his military training kicking in, not wanting to waste ammo, not here. “Fucking go, I’ve got your back!”

“Alright!” Aidan said, quickly placing a hand on the Norwegian’s shoulder. “Get out alive, alright? I’m not leaving you behind, but I’d prefer not to have to run back into here all heroic-like, you know?” He grinned, running forward whilst firing and - much to his surprise - managing to take some guys down.

Tobias saw Aiden run, as he knew he would be out of the woods, well, mostly, given that the other prisoners were still shooting guards, not running. Even the Norwegian had to admit, this plan was incredibly fucking dangerous, and relied upon the people inside actually being smart enough to go with the Blitz Play that was going on, not to fuck up and die, like a lot of these prisoners would. Moving from cover, he took out a set of guards, moving out from a base of a tower, sending rounds towards them, catching a couple of 9mm rounds in his arm. If it wasn’t for the adrenaline, he’d have stopped right there, but he didn’t. He only kept going after he’d dropped them, and started running, looking only at the hole, at freedom, where Aidan was going. Now, he fucking hoped.

Aidan watched the action unfold as he waited for Tobias, having taken cover behind the other side of the wall, at the edge where the gaping hole started. He thought he’d have to run back in when Tobias took a few shots to the arm, but he was impressed to see that wouldn’t stop the guy. He ducked down as shots were fired towards him, dropping a guard and two prisoners that the motherfucker had teamed up with. Leaning back to see the action inside again, he gestured for Tobias to come to him.

“It’s my turn to cover you, man; fucking run! Aidan yelled above the noise, taking position and laying down covering fire for the Norwegian. Tobias kept running, and didn’t stop, not until he made it to Aidan. Fuck knows if the others made it; they knew their role. Aidan had just been close by when this happened, trying to find the others was impossible, hence why he was weary of shooting anyone in a prison jumpsuit, particularly covered in blood. Keeping moving, he spat blood, and slid behind the rock that was near to Aiden, looking over. They were out, they were no longer in the sandy and dusty courtyard of the prison, they were free, and out of the ditch, out of the Pen. A smile cracked on Tobias’s face, as he looked at his arm, sighing.

“Ahhh, shit.” He said, poking it slowly, almost wanting to scream, as he realized where it had gone. It wasn’t as bad as he thought. Well, given he’d done far worse to people, this was a start.

“Fuck, that was lucky. Grazed in. Not much metal in the wound. Eh, it’ll be fine, I’ll sort it later.” He added, Tobias looking across to Aiden, the sound of bullets quietening, focused more inside the prison walls now, rather than out. The team that had punched the wall in had made all the noise they could make.

“You good?”

Aidan nodded in response, breathing heavily. “Yeah, mostly unscratched. Just got a few whacks from the guards. I’m not dead, so that’s a start.” He gave a heavy chuckle, chest feeling not-so-tight as he, too, realized they were finally out of the prison. The adrenaline was wearing off now, and he furrowed his brow, looking to the sky briefly as he waited for what happened next…

He hated the stupid masks, really. They impaired vision, made it hard to communicate, and — on occasion — were fucking stuffy, Christ. So, in quiet protest, he wore the dopiest fucking masks he could get his damn hands on. The product today? A cheesy Darth Vader mask, which he didn’t even really think covered his defining traits, but hey. Whatever. Before clicking the FOB and unlocking the Insurgent (why it had a FOB, he wasn’t sure), Ryan turned to look over at Judah and shot his friend a wink. ”Don’t worry, my guy. This’ll put some hair on your chest.” Then he turned and headed over to the truck.

It sure was a shame that this thing had to go down with the ship, y’know. It was a nice piece of machinery, with the turret modified to be literally a rocket launcher (another brain child of Ryan), and a giant metal slab attached to the front to act as a spearhead. Boom. There wasn’t a gate to storm, so they’d make their own. This plan owned. He owned. He’s the best around, nothing’s ever gonna bring him down. Ryan jumped into the driver’s seat of the ride and fired it up, revving the engine a bit, hearing it roar. Noice.

Now for the next important part.

Ryan reached into his left hand pocket and withdrew an auxiliary cord, stabbing it into the port on the newly added stereo system. What? He wasn’t gonna work with no music. He plugged the other end into his phone and flipped through his music, eventually cranking the tune of the day. Then, he reached into his personal pack, which was sitting on the passenger’s seat, and with drew his Darth Vader mask, which he pulled over his head.

Kay, murder time funtime. Rifles in the back, boutta pop the trunk and ruin a few people’s days.

Why was she teamed up with the ape? Ryan sat in front of her in the truck, already fed up with the man’s way of speaking from before he entered too. Was it luck or did she piss someone off? Maybe she shouldn’t have let it slip she wanted to rise a little in the Syndicate. Mr. Helmsley could have caught wind of it. No matter, here she was sitting, behind a man who probably thought the stench of his sweat would work as some sort of aphrodisiac. Of course, the ape had to prove his boyishness once more by revving the engine. Eloïse rolled her eyes almost out of her skull. Could it start even worse? Then Ryan plugged in the cord and Eloïse realized she just jinxed herself. The music was very much like Ryan.

But on the upside it gave Eloïse pretty much the go for her own guilty pleasures. From her leather jacket’s inside pocket she drew a pack of cigarettes bound with a lighter. “Tell me if you mind.” Said Eloïse, as she blew out her first breath of smoke right next to Ryan. Though it was pretty clear she wouldn’t care if he did. Eloïse did feel a bit out of her element. Instead of wearing her suit she sat here in a worn out jeans, a leather jacket and a white top that exposed to draw attention and hid enough to keep them guessing. For a mask she chose something dramatic. And what could be more dramatic than a Greek theatre tragedy mask?

All in all some fools might have guessed the girl was harmless. Until you took a closer look. With her left hand she might have held her cig but the right one held a Vom Feuer Carbine Rifle on her lap. In the door side she held 3 wine bottles with some cloth in them.

You know who else was perfectly ‘harmless’? Charlie or what she preferred to be called while out on a mission: Black Rabbit. Her green eyes were covered by grey contacts and her animal ski mask hid her expression from her comrades. Even though the sun was blinding and the heat was like an eternal tanning machine, the petite girl was covered from head to toe. A black hoodie, dark denim jeans, and classic converse sneakers. In her hoodie pouch hid her brass knuckles taser and strapped on her belt were twin uzi pistols. Her twin pistols. She even had a dagger for extra incentive! Can never be too prepared on missions like this. Or any mission really. But her prized possession was in her backpack. Yes… she just needed an opportunity to use it.

A motherfucking sticky bomb.

What? She had needs, wants, desires. Ryan already gave her a piece of cake by letting her be the one to control the ROCKET LAUNCHER but y’know, she was greedy and wanted the whole cake. How did someone like her get involved with the Syndicate? That really doesn’t fucking matter because she had a wall to shoot at. Before she entered the car through the side that Eloïse didn’t enter in, Charlie scanned the area and at the silver T20 driving off. There was a glint of admiration in her stare. Swipe. Wait no, that was just the fire on the match she just lit. Another second past and the match was out of her fingers and flicked toward the desert sand. After stuffing the match box in her ass pocket, she climbed her tiny self into the Insurgent and went to the middle back. For reasons. Rocket launcher reasons.

Still having not spoken a word, she snatched the cigarette out of her sisterly bud’s hand, lifted her mask up, and took a long needed drag for herself. Once she was satisfied with the intoxicating poison, she offered the cigarette back and teasingly smiled, ”Like you give a damn about him.”

Insurgents like this one they were in right now typically smelled like musky metal on the inside, not terribly unlike a used car. After all, what use did Merryweather have for actually putting in those scented Christmas trees in their hardcore military transport vehicles? Fortunately, the group was saved from unpleasantries in their nostrils, due to the foresight of one Jeff Johnson in bringing with him to the Insurgent a box of large cheesy Liberty City-style pizza. The vehicle was thus filled with the exquisite aroma of freshly baked pizza from the oven.

The man himself was clad in a cover-all blue boiler suit, fit for a mechanic or a janitor or a man about to invade a high security prison. At his back was an American flag, used as a short cape for some reason. Probably for a patriotic aesthetic as he would later have on his head a hyper-realistic bald eagle head mask, feathers and all. Jeff looked more like a wrestling face than a criminal, certainly not the silliest thing he’s put himself in. All in all, compared to his teammates, the senior hustler was aesthetically very out of place. The only thing that indicated he was in this was the light machine gun sitting vertically next to him like it was a genuine member of the heist.

Maybe he’s getting sentimental, but Jeff thought this ride needed a bit more chatter and spirit! These Syndicate tools were all business, no play, that was no way to hustle! He decided to address the girl with the prissy bunny mask sitting across him. “Eh, Bunnyhop. What do you think about this plan?” he asked her, his voice friendly and upbeat and muffled from chewing pizza “Nothing wrong with loud and reckless, I say, but we could do this thing a bit smarter, know what I’m saying?” Realizing that the cheese pizza has been consumed by one, Jeff corrected his fatal lack of manners and soon addressed everyone.

“Yo, what kind of lifeless monsters are you guys? Here’s some pizza, have a slice or something, will ya?” He held the box in front of him, the slices free for the taking.

Bunnyhop. With dull eyes, Charlise blinked at the older man, who was a jolly good fellow trying to keep things light hearted but still being the responsible adult, sorta. She didn’t argue with his offering of pizza. Who doesn’t like pizza? She kept her beady eyes on him while he told the rest of the crew to have a slice. When the old man was finally done talking and after she took a well deserved bite out of some cheesy (god, she loved cheese) pizza, Charlie shrugged, ”Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s the plan. We go in, get the job done loudly, try not to die or die, they don’t really care, and bounce the fuck out with people. I try not to think about the failed outcomes and the ‘what if we did it this way’ because y’know fear and doubt leads to failure… or like, death.” She took a moment to take a bigger bite into her slice of pie, ”In other news, this pizza is the shit. Yum. Thanks, old man.”

As the local driver, Zoey always knew what exactly she needed to do. It was simple, haul ass there, and haul ass home. Once in a while she had to point a gun and pull the trigger, but it was never anything more complicated than that. As dumb as The Syndicate could be sometimes, they were smart for knowing everyone’s strengths, and putting Zoey as the primary driver when it came to these sorts of operations. As soon as she received the slip of paper, she looked at the coordinates and actually did know where she was going to be.

A gut instinct told her that there were going to be half as many wheels on the getaway vehicles, but that wasn’t something she couldn’t handle. The Syndicate employed her for a reason, and she was going to give them the best bang for their buck. Now, Zoey was close to leaving and darting off in her custom Sultan RS, but hearing thumping coming from what the the others dubbed the “Funvee”, it enticed the Asian getaway driver.

She took one look at her car, then back at the thumping coming and sighed. Might as well check it out, the location wouldn’t take much time at all to get to. The getaway driver approached the former-Merryweather owned vehicle and knocked on the door twice, making sure people knew that she was about to barge in. She opened the door and was immediately met with the smell of fresh pizza.

“You guys having a party in here?” Zoey asked curiously, before her eyes shifted down to the pizza, which was still steaming - the aroma making its way to her nose. She glanced at Charlie, trying to make some eye contact before shrugging. “Y’all are whack, man...” Zoey grabbed a slice of pizza and put it in her mouth, taking a bite and chewing before making her closing statement. You know where to find me if you need me.”

With that, Zoey disembarked from the vehicle and got into her own personal vehicle. Zoey’s Sultan RS wasn’t known for being the most incognito of vehicles either. As soon as the pistons started to fire, everyone within a close radius knew that she was doing something with it. And based on the sound and the wonderful effects of the doppler effect, she had left and made her way to the staging area.

The prince shook his head as he reached over to the box of pizza, grabbing a slice of it and stuffing it into his mouth under the mask. Hey, he could get use to this. Lunch at work? Awesome. ”Okay, Jeff. First of all, this is a brilliant plan, there’s no way we get them out without attracting attention otherwise. Secondly, you’re now my best friend. Thank you for the donation of pizza and welcome to the Funvee.” Ryan said, polishing off the last of the pizza and pushing in the clutch, ”Here we go, dudes. Murder time funtime. Get ready to do what you do best and make things go boooom.” He said, glancing over his shoulder at Charlie before dumping the clutch and gunning the ignition. This would work. Right? Probably.

Ryan didn’t have to tell her twice. Taking a moment to lick the grease off her fingers, Charlie gave her friend a nod. The boom part would be the best part of this mission, for her at least. A frown did fall on her face when she realized her slice was gone… how unfortunate. Eh, she’d just get more from the old man later.

Serious mode. Mask on. Goal set. It’s go time.

Lifting herself up, she unlatched the hatch to the insurgent and poked her head out of the hole (ha, like a wabbit). Her gaze met with the RPG and for a second, her heart leaped out of her chest. She would remember this moment for the rest of her life (along with other moments that involved chemical energy, pressurized gas, fire...etc). Aesthetically, it reminded her of the RPG-7, which may look rugged, simple, low-cost, but was the most widely used anti-armor weapon in the world. Wanna know why? Because it was effective. Destructive. The splash damage would be real. She didn’t even need to have accurate aim for it to still hit the target. Not like she would miss on purpose. Black Rabbit would hit on target, at the right time and at the area that would matter the most. The weak spot. There was no point in thinking of the chances of her royally fucking up - nah, she’d do it right.

One shot was all she needed in the past. If there was one thing she seemed to have a natural talent for, it was finding the zones that caused as much damage as possible. Imagine an area being like a human body and it having a handful of pressure points. Her intuition tells her, hey, aim there and then suddenly a building collapses to the ground or there’s a bunch of casualties. For someone like her, who was addicted to a great amount of potential energy that went ka-boom (for concerning reasons), she wasn’t completely reckless with explosive material. You shouldn’t be, no matter how mentally consumed you were (or are) with the act of blowing shit up.

Getting herself situated behind her precious weapon (for as long as she was in the Insurgent), which was already loaded and lined up with the trigger mechanism, her left hand gripped the trigger handle (yes, she was a lefty), the heat shield rested on her shoulder, and her focused glare was inches away from the optical sight. Yeah, she was so ready.

With Bunnyhop manning the RPG (it was so cliche, cutesy girl with hidden badass), Jeff made some personal preparations himself, straightening his boiler suit and putting on the eagle mask. Hey, if he was gonna get caught on camera, it better be with style. And for a plan as crazy as this one, style translated to charming narm, something to make the wrestling scene proud. Hence the comical mask and the American flag cape. He could see the headlines already. ‘Eagle Patriot Man Infiltrates Prison, 7 Dead’.

“Get ready to rock and roll, people,” Jeff declared to his accomplices as he locked and loaded his machine gun. “A plan this crazy badass can’t afford to be run with a stick up your ass. Let loose and give the media one hell of a show. Aside from our incarcerated lads, priority number one is maximum chaos!” That was the reason he brought a machine gun instead of an assault rifle or a shotgun. It made the most noise and spread bullets literally everywhere. Tactically, Jeff’s duty would be ‘suppressing fire’, but he preferred to call it ‘shoot so many bullets the guards will shit themselves dodging them’.

Through the optical sight, Charlie noticed an officer getting sniped from the tower closest to them. Not so much the shot but his body falling in front of her view down, down, down to the ground. There was no longer minutes. In a matter of seconds, they would hit their target. Uncertainty would not harbor in her mind, only the thoughts of making a decision and pulling the trigger. A building exhilaration made her focus in on the border that separated them from retrieving the other members of the Syndicate.

Closer… closer... just a little bit closer...

Absorbed in the moment, there was a sudden jolt. A stunning blast with a loud crack slammed into the wall with indescribable amount of force. The taste of dirt and pavement could be felt in the air. There was a lingering ring in her ears from the roaring boom. Her heart was hammering its way out of her chest and yet she was addicted to this feeling.

Knock ‘em dead, Ry.

That was kinda cool. Ryan made a mental note to buy himself one of these things as he gunned the throttle and shifted again. Honestly, if it wasn’t for shit like this, he’d probably be like his sister and sit at home all day and make money off of something mom hooked him up with. But hey, Ryan was pretty good at this criminal shit, and he knew where his life was headed. Jail.

No, really. He was about to let himself into jail.

He cracked himself up.

Just like he was cracking the wall.

Now with a stupid smirk on his face (it only took Ryan a split second to amuse himself), Ryan punched the throttle one last time and the engine roared loudly, and the closed the final gap between the truck and the wall. The huge metal spear hit the wall with a cacophonous noise, the wall shattering around them and crumbling after they pushed through. Suck it, Christopher. Told you that shit would work. Now on the playing field, Ryan slammed on the brakes and the Insurgent came to a halt (rather loudly), pulling the door open, Ryan let himself out of the vehicle, reaching under his seat and pulling out a road flare. He cracked it open and tossed it on the ground beside the vehicle, clicking his ear piece on.

”Ground team to Air Jew, we are stand by for drop.” He said, turning it off before the Jewmeister could get a response in (this was how Ryan won). Shortly after, the cargo crates fell out of the sky, hitting the ground with a thud. Alright, now to go about the hard part: collecting the homies.

This was a feeling unlike anything Judah had ever felt in his entire young adult life. He had been to a lot of places, and he had certainly done a lot of drugs, but none of those things topped this moment. There was no greater high than the one he got when he jumped out of that plane, leaving his life and body at the mercy of the Earth’s gravitational pull. Maybe this is why being in an altered mental state is called a ‘high’ – this was the thrill that people were chasing, and they weren’t even aware of it.

Judah lost himself in the moment, forgetting that if he didn’t pull the cord for his chute in approximately two milliseconds, he was in for a world of pain upon impact. After a very brief, panicked scramble, Judah’s fingers found the ring on his chest and yanked. A dark blue balloon of fabric billowed out of the pack and caught the air currents behind him, slowing his descent. Of course, much like the flight itself, this maneuver could have been executed a little bit better. The impact of the water felt like it damn near took a layer of skin off, but nothing critical was broken.

Adrenaline coursed through the young man as he burst through the lake’s surface and gasped for breath. Holy SHIT. Count him in as The Syndicate’s new official, ready AND willing, pilot. He could do this one hundred times over, especially with the company of a sexy little firecracker like Cami. Speaking of… Judah turned in search of his partner.

Camille fell to the water just as Judah emerged, the force nearly knocking the wind out of her. She plunged into the lake, the parachute luckily keeping her from falling too far. It yanked her back, causing the straps to dig into her shoulders. Camille watched as air bubbled out of her mouth at the sudden movement. Fighting to orient herself, she finally kicked and broke through the surface with a gasp and a cough. Barely keeping her head above the water, she looked around. The parachute was finally fluttering down to land on the lake’s surface behind her, the material soaking up water and beginning to sink. She needed to detach before it pulled her down.

Shaking, adrenaline-fueled hands fumbled around the clasp on her chest, usually deft fingers struggling to unlatch it. Judah, who had already freed himself from his chute, started swimming over to Camille.

“Hey, you okay?” He wanted to ask if she needed help, but took this one single moment to not sound like his usual patronizing self. The implication that he was willing to help, as she seemed to be struggling, was still there without directly asking.

Camille felt relief flood her (in spite of herself) at Judah’s voice. She wasn’t alone. He was here and she wasn’t alone, she wasn’t going to drown, she –

The clasp finally came undone.

“I’ve got it!” she said breathlessly.

As quick as she could manage, she slipped the parachute off of her shoulders, immediately feeling the dragging weight leave her. Keeping her head up was still a struggle, but at least now she wasn’t in fear of going completely under. Her eyes finally focused on Judah, still wide and bright, but no longer panicked.

Talking over the wind and waves (apparently crashing a plane into a lake drummed up a few waves) proved difficult. They were both winded from the fall and trying to keep themselves afloat. Rather than continue to basically yell at each other, Judah nodded towards the shore and waited for her to start swimming. Once Camille did, he followed after, swimming a few strokes behind. He might be a dick, but he wasn’t going to swim ahead and let her drown or something tragic.

Camille held her breath for most of the swim over, not wanting to risk breathing in the water. She focused on the shore growing closer with each messy stroke, fighting the choppy waves.

But she didn't realize how close she was until the toe of her ruined shoe grazed the mud and rocks beneath her.

She started in surprise, pausing her strokes. Then she put one foot down on the bottom of the lake. Then the other. Straightening up, Camille found herself standing waist-deep in the water.

“Oh thank god,” she breathed to herself.

She looked up and brought the heels of her hands over her eyes. A long, quivering breath escaped her. In the dark, she focused on the feeling of the water pushing around her legs and dripping down her neck, the sound of her thundering heart and the waves washing over the shore.

Camille hated swimming. And now she hated flying, too. It was a relief to finally have her feet on the ground.

Her hands moved up from her eyes to run over her soaking hair. She opened her eyes with one more shaking breath.

She was alive. She was fine.

Camille looked over her shoulder to check on her ‘partner’.

Said partner’s feet met the shore a few moments after Camille’s did. As soon as he was officially on land, the whole rush of everything came back in full force. Judah stood up, still knee deep in the lake, and shook off some water excitably. The mixture of the buzzing energy under his skin, and the way that Camille was standing and combing her hands through her hair, wet clothing clinging to her body, and the fact that they were alive, it all went straight to his head.

Judah didn’t think about it, he just did it. This was the epitome of living life to the fullest. He ran at the tan-skinned beauty, caught her around the waist in her moment of zen, and spun her around and off of her feet. She gave a sharp yelp in surprise as they twirled, her hands automatically going to his shoulders. Before she could fully react, he planted a full-on, no reservations kiss upon her lips. They were alive, they completed the mission, they earned this… at least, that’s how he felt.

Camille was stunned for a fraction of a moment when Judah kissed her as she processed what exactly was happening. What he was doing. His lips were… actually kind of soft. Forceful and messy and lacking any sort of finesse, but… it wasn't the worst kiss Camille’d ever had.

She allowed one more fraction of time to let herself enjoy it for all its uncouth glory.

Then she shoved Judah’s shoulders back, wound up, and slapped him across the face. Judah stepped back and dropped his hold on her waist, leaving her on her own two feet once more.

“Oooooh~” Judah remarked in a long, purr-like humm, his hand immediately went to his jaw in an attempt to rub away the sting. The bitch hit hard. It was kind of, well... it was kind of hot. He hadn’t come across a girl this feisty since his days in Liberty City, and that was truly saying something. He laughed quietly, it was a breathy noise that got trapped in his throat as he smirked at Camille. “Spicy. Don’t pretend you didn’t like it,” he teased.

Oh good lord, he's into it, Camille thought with no small amount of exasperation. But something about the way his lips quirked up… Camille straightened her spine, a haughty tilt to her head.

“Not drowning and making it to shore?” she asked, her voice light if a bit breathless. She stepped forward to close the distance between them again. A slender hand raised to pick off a stray piece of kelp on his shoulder and toss it delicately to the side. “Yes, I liked that very much, thank you for asking. Everything else?” Her hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him down a bit. Her dark eyes locked on his. “Needs practice.” She gave him a sweet smile of her own, pushing him back lightly. Then Camille turned away from him and started walking back up to the shore.

“Mmhmm,” he murmured in response behind her back, obviously not buying it. “Guess we’ll just have to practice, then.” His tone was very matter-of-fact, spoken behind smiling lips. Judah followed her down the shoreline, seaweed and sand stuck to his pants and shoes inelegantly. He felt gross and soaked to the bone, but it was worth it. The young man stripped off his shirt, revealing the well-maintained, but not overly muscular physique beneath, and began ringing the water out of the thin cotton garment. He tilted his head up to listen for any signs of, well, ongoing chaos? They did just aid in the largest prison break this city had ever witnessed, surely there would be audible explosions and fanfare.

“We should get to the rendezvous point, that is, if they haven’t just assumed we died.” Judah thought on that for a moment. Nah, Ryan would make sure someone checked up on the “Air Jew” crew. He rolled his eyes at the memory of Ry's joke and kept walking.

“I certainly would have,” Camille said, pulling out an airtight bag as she walked beside him. She opened it to retrieve a simple mask with only one hole for the eyes. “Would knowing you longer cause them to have more, or less faith in you?” Camille paused and looked up at the sound of police sirens drawing closer. A plane crash was bound to call attention. “We should probably avoid them.”

“It depends on who you'd ask,” Judah replied to her inquiry with unexpected ease and honesty. He saw her putting her mask on and remembered his own. It was a simple blue ski mask, easily bunched up and stuffed in his back pocket and, like Camille’s, it was also kept dry by a bag. Judah unwrapped it and pulled it over his head before nodding in her direction. It was time to get out of here, meet up with the others, and have a fucking party.