[IC] No Masters or Kings - ON HOLD

[Rosalind]

JULY 2235, FORMERLY NANTAHALA FOREST, FORMER NORTH CAROLINA

Light, more dazzling and blinding than she could remember, greens a shade almost too offensive to behold. Each step sent pain through her, each hit on the senses an assault to one not yet ready to be awake. Was this thinking? Had the air ever been so clear and strong as it was now? Shock, curiosity and fear, they were all a confliction of emotions that sent the dazed blonde into a fit of panic, though outwardly she looked as if she were enjoying an innocent stroll. But there was nothing normal about her being here, nor was there anything of memory to her. Even as she stumbled and caught herself on the tree beside her, she withdrew her hand as if the bark had scolded. Wide green eyes looked up as high as they could before a noise caught her attention and she whirled around.

For one who should have been so cautious, she did not let sense stop her feet from carrying for her. She was searching for answers whose questions she could not form. The where’s, the whys and the who’s would not stop, her mind hurting almost as much as tired and battered limbs. She pushed through the wild flora, ignoring whatever attack the wildness made on her flesh. A collection of scratches, welts and wounds had already gathered, tearing through the fabric of her suit.

Scattered across the forest floor was smoking debris, litter so out of place to the natural wildlife around her. It caused step to falter and mind once more to race, just where the hell was she?

The confused Elmina Lennox stopped for just a second, raising her wrist up to eye level and looking to the black cuff that circled her. One lithe finger traced the engravings, the numbers and letters, and mostly the word murder. In that one second and with that one word, absolutely everything came back to her. And before she could stop, she doubled over and vomited all over the forest floor.

All this was not a nightmare; it had been exactly one hundred and forty-five years since she had had a dream. It had also been one hundred and forty five years ago that she had been locked in that small chamber and every thought, feeling and memory was locked away. She looked to the digital clock blinking away on the cuff, reading the date. 22:07:2235, 10:37. She watched the numbers blink as the horror settled in, at the great space of time that had been stolen from her whilst she had been suspended in a frozen state of nothingness. Anger riddled her as she looked over the cuts and scrapes on her fingers and hands, the results of clawing herself free of the tangled mess she had awoken in. The glass front of her chamber smashed, but restraints still in place. The ordeal was still fresh in her mind as she touched at the split in her lip and large cut on her forehead, brought back to the present when once more she heard a loud noise.

Approaching now with a quieter step and crouching down on her walk, her hand taking hold of a heavy stick as she went, Elmina stopped before breaking through the trees and peered round. But caution was replaced with an immediate sense of duty as her intended weapon was dropped from hand, and she ran through. Once more her boot was caught and she stumbled again, and cursed as she straightened up to look at the carnage that sent plumes of dark smoke up through the air. “Shit!” Breathed Elmina pushing a hand up to expel back flyaway hair. She stood before the metal monstrosity, and it was bigger than she could even remember. There were large breakages in the wreckage, and face down only a foot away from her lay a bearded man in his own blood. Elmina did not even check to see if he still yet held a pulse, heading instead for the destroyed craft.

But an increased heat met her with each step she took, and she coughed as the smoke grew thicker. Elmina doubled back, looking to wreckage and for another way in. She did not know why she lingered, only that compassionate side of her wanted to help. A somewhat inappropriate smirk creased her lips as she climbed through a busted escape door, she could remember the man who had sentenced her to the forsaken prison that she was void of all compassion.

Her boots crunched on broken glass and fractured structure as she climbed inside, emergency lighting now failing and providing only a dim and sporadic illumination. One step in and her boot crushed down onto a soft and uneven substance, and a quick look down sent her backwards. Wide and blank eyes glare up at her, neck punctured by a piece of shrapnel and blood pooling around him. Elmina swallowed and looked ahead, stepping over the body as she walked carefully through the lopsided structure.

The wreckage was that of the Apox centre, a first of its kind and the creation of one Herrity Apox, a man with a cruel yet brilliant mind. A prison, it was a solution to overcrowded prison and the way to rid the earth of the most dangerous and feral prisoners. The UN and their desire for totalitarianism thought their goal better reached if the filth of the world was no longer on it, and rather than face executions, why not just make them disappear? The UN spread a message of peace, told the world over that they would not resort to violence to counter violence. Elmina knew better, after all, she was an official within UN and the niece of a particularly nasty and ambition man, Grant Lennox. The man responsible for her being here, or rather not being in a box beneath the ground.

The Apox centre was a clever invention; it was a prison for those deemed dangerous and evil. It was much like the old ships she had once seen, the grand boats that took passengers around the world. Only there was nothing grand about the pure grey structure. There was nothing inviting or glamourous, nothing comfortable save for the security quarters for those who were to keep watch over the world’s deadliest. Unlike the others who had been locked away in the cyrochambers and held in stasis, Elmina had been on the Apox centre once before her incarceration.

Back in the country that had once been known as England, Elmina had been part of the medical team that stocked the medical bay and also tested the chambers, to ensure that all those held within would be comfortable and from harm. Though some couldn’t give a shit, there were still the humanitarian groups that protested prisoners’ rights. Even though Elmina had already been delving into the unlawful when she had been a test dummy, never did she think she would have so much of her life stolen away by the cursed creation.

She stopped beside the lopsided stairwell, fingers once more gingerly touching at the split on her lip. It was absurd to be in here! Elmina was one of the first in here, and as it room to house one thousand convicts, there could be any number of deadly and dangerous people in here. Even now she could see hands pounded on the screen doors begging for release. What it must be like, to wake up dazed and confused and in the padded tiny cell they were locked in. Everything here was electronic, there was no such thing as keys with Prime. Everything was done by touch and approval. It was then than Elmina once more raised her wrist and looked to the tiny scar on her wrist, and she remembered back to the day before she was locked away. Her uncle had haltered the operation to remove her UN chip, not giving any other reason than a shake of his head.

Hope filled her, if she still had that microchip inside her than there was a chance she could get into the locked chambers, the medical bay! She should have been putting as much distance between her and this place as possible, but she’d not survive long without supplies. Funny that a girl who had lived her life in relative comfort, albeit a highly regimented and ordered one, knew about survival! She could now only thank her constant obsession with the rebel forces and interactions with those who she helped to infiltrate the UN and Prime.

With a new focus in mind, the blonde turned and quickly climbed the stairwells, heading to the very top of the Apox craft, to where the command centre was and where the security would have been housed.

*

It took her quite some time and difficulty, dodging sparking wires and those that lay dying. She stuck to the shadows and kept herself concealed; she hadn’t missed the abled convicts breaking for freedom. Never once did she ask for help or stop anyone, maybe it was selfish but Elmina had her task set and wasn’t going to stop for anyone. When eventually she did reach the top, she headed toward the emergency station with excited yet anxious breath, her mouth dry and head swimming but her focus kept her on. Slowly she raised her wrist to the pad and at first there was nothing and she swore. But she tried again, pressing her wrist harder against the sensory pad and almost squealing in delight when the light flashed green.

Elmina took a look behind her before she hoped to the door, which opened only marginally. She groaned as she lifted damaged hands to the screen door and pushed with all her might, it only moving inches. “Fuck” She said stopping, rubbing at her shoulder where the frame had dug in painfully. It was then that she saw another figure coming toward her, and Elmina quickly took to defence as she straightened up and squared off her shoulders. But in her desperation to get inside, Elmina tossed caution to the wind. “Help me get this door open!” Elmina rushed, and it was to her fortune that the other person agreed. The con, another female of fair complexion came forwards and helped Elmina force the door open wide enough for them to slip inside.

Elmina offered no explanation as she rushed in, quickly taking on purpose as she looked around the locked cabinets. Looking around her, she didn’t stay idle for long. She offered no explanation as she began yanking open cabinets and tossing random bits into the black pack, discarding that which wasn’t considered a basic necessity. She completely ignored the other one behind her as she pulled drawers and cabinets open, the pack slowly filling. Only when she pulled open one cabinet did Elmina pause, her hand nervously reaching forward. An addition she couldn’t remember, and what form of emergency could require these in a medic station. But it was an odd comfort as her hand circled around the grip of the small gun.

Without thinking she began adding the magazines to the bag and turned, offering the other gun to the woman behind her. “Know how to use one of these?” She asked. Elmina wasn’t a hundred percent sure, she hadn’t really shot a gun before, but being unarmed in a place like this was a death sentence. The spare went unloaded in the bag and she slammed the cabinet shut, before making her escape. She didn’t need to tell the other woman to follow her, but they made their exit and Elmina wanted distance between herself and the Apox for good.

*

The descended had been more difficult than her climb, her back now weighed down by the large pack and one hand holding on dearly to the gun. Blood, sweat and dirt was now tangled in her hair and on her brow, and her thirst was increasing. But eventually she saw the light of the exit and had barely stepped outside when the balled fist of a man smashed straight into her face, sending Elmina into a heap on the floor and the gun flying from her hand.

[JulienJaden]

... Darkness was over the surface of the deep, and her spirit was hovering in cold water. But apparently, somebody said "let there be light" because suddenly, everything was bright as fuck.

It was like breaking the surface after a dive, like somebody loosing their grip on your throat - Christine instinctively and greedily sucked the air in, filling her lungs like it might be her last time... or was it her first? The sudden change from no thought, no feeling, complete and utter nothingness itself to an overwhelming firework of impressions and emotions was too much. She was blinded by intense, flashing white, and deaf to all but her own shaky breathing. Her head was spinning and everything she could sense seemed strange and frightening to her. Where was she? Why was she shaking all over?

Her eyes slowly, painfully adjusted - what she would have willingly accepted as a star a few minutes before turned out to be nothing more than an emergency light dangling from a metal ceiling and everytime it passed, it was so bright she had to screw her eyes shut. She tried to move but her body wouldn't react. All the muscles in her body seemed to be on fire, like she had doused a freezing limb in hot water; they even seemed to be stiff like she had been in the cold. She forced her head to turn and slowly, it followed her command.

She hung in what seemed to be a metal sarcophagus without a lid, held in place by plastic straps around her chest and hips; others made of metal, most likely for her arms and legs, were open, apparently tired of serving their purpose - whatever malfunction had opened her prison also paved the road to her escape. It still took her several minutes to undo what binds remained with clumsy, shaky fingers but when she did, gravity, loyal as ever, helpfully and quite rapidly pulled her to the floor, shoulder first into a pile of glass. The overall she wore proved just resilient enough to protect her from small cuts but it didn't help the soreness any.

As her senses returned and her body seemed to had its fill of oxygen, she registered a faint smell in the air that, in reality, wasn't faint at all: Smoke. Her mind was dull and slow but smoke always meant danger and that helped with some of the confusion. It took so much more effort than it should have but she got herself off the floor, half-leaning on the wall, feeling sluggish and out of her element but unmistakeably alive and awake.

What the hell is even happening?

Slowly, as her brain booted up, it conveyed her that there was noise, had been all along: Blaring, deafening sirens; screams for help, screams of rage, faint laughter... But it was all weird, all off, as if it all came from one side. She reached up, as if to remove a plug from her right ear and that was when she felt the scars. With one painful jolt, it all came back to her: The conference center, the grenade, pain and confusion even worse than this, months of uncertainty and then, nothing. Freezing darkness.

Cryostasis.

But what in the world was happening now? A prison break? There were no guards around and everything seemed to be damaged. A crash with an asteroid then? But why wasn't she being sucked into space? And there was still gravity, right? Did the space station have artificial gravity?
She heard that faint laughter again and could have sworn that it was a little closer than before.

Doesn't really matter what it is right now; I'm still stuck on a space station with about a thousand maniacs.

-----

She stumbled through the darkness with no sense of direction. There were no windows here, no signs, no plans, only cold, solid metal with pipes sticking out here and there and fires where the wiring had short-circuited before main power failed or was redirected or whatever had led to the lighting being all screwed up. Every now and then, Christine passed a stasis chamber but most were empty. However, she rarely had to look far to find a corpse, virtually all of them mutilated in some way or other; and those ripped apart by whatever desaster had befallen the station looked like they had been the lucky ones. It seemed like, as soon as people were free, they choose to go back to their roots and murder the first people they saw, bashing skulls in and slitting throats like there was no tomorrow.

She had been looking for a weapon of some kind since she started walking but all she found was a piece of sharp metal and one of the dead inmates had provided the cloth she needed to give it a handle of sorts. Shiving somebody to death was always an option in prison, space apocalypse or not, but if a guard turned the corner, a shotgun in hand, she didn't really see herself getting out of the affair in one piece.

After what seemed like forever, she came across a stairwell and she heard footsteps from above, laboured breaths and a faint, female voice urging somebody to keep moving. She stayed in the shadows and watched as two women came down to her level and left in the opposite direction. They were carrying something, enough to be exerted. But, more importantly, they wore the same overall as her - they were inmates. They were headed somewhere. And from what little she could see in the twilight, they weren't soaked in blood, which, in a place like this, was a small but crucial detail.
At the very least, following them beat walking through the bowels of the station without knowing where the hell she was going, so she did.

And not a minute later, she discovered what it was they were going for: A hole in the wall. A bright, natural, warm light. The outside. Earth. Somehow, the whole damn station had come crashing down through the atmosphere. And, miraculously, Christine had survived the whole mess without as much as a scratch.
Looks like prison break and asteroid were both kinda right.
She kept going, feeling a gentle breeze on her skin, the burning from before only a faint memory. The smell of freedom was all the nourishment she needed right now.

But... if this is Earth, then we're probably in the middle of nowhere. Otherwise, this place would be swarming with rescue teams or military right now. Those two seem to have the right idea - team up, make friends. Maybe they've got room for one more.

The young woman was about ready to call out to her oblivious guides when she saw a tall figure appear in front of one them, heard a groan and saw one of them go down - an ambush; one of the degenerates had waited for somebody to come through what might as well have been the only exit from this godforsaken place. Something hard skid over the floor and, as fate would have it, came to a halt right at her feet: An automatic pistol.

Oh my.

It was like christmas, like somebody had answered her non-existant prayers. She picked it up and with those quick, automated motions she had been taught, she checked the chamber and undid the safety - it was good to go. Hell, she was good to go.

"Hey!", she tried to call but it came out faint. She coughed up some cobwebs and tried again, making the corridor echo with her voice:
"Hey! Fuckface!"

She had come close enough to see the entire scenery clearly now: One woman on the floor, the other with a gun in her hand and pointed at the man who had just punched her companion. Something in the second one's face was endearing - a slight hesitation, an inexperience with this kind of situation that Christine hadn't expected to see in a cage like this; for all she knew, she had just stumbled over the only people in this prison who were no serial killers.
The weapon in her hands was free of that doubt, of moral qualms, of guilt - it was just like Lester had told her: If somebody attacks first, you don't go "don't move" like in the movies - you take the shot. Every time.

She pointed the gun directly at his head, his stupid, frightened visage. And she pulled the trigger without flinching.
Blood and brain matter exploded from the back of his skull, he fell backwards and hit the floor with a loud thump.

"Guns don't kill people. Girls do", she murmured to herself, a crooked smile on her face.
Christine's eyes met those of the other two. Were they unnerved at her expression, after just having killed a man? Her mind was still a little too hazy to tell. She extended her right hand to the one on the ground - that black device she hadn't been paying too much attention to read 'terrorism' and 'murder' in bright, clean letters - and the smile was gone: She looked at the woman in front of her with a sober, serious expression.
"I think you could use some help. And so do I."

[Irisity]

Georgia was wondering if she was finally dreaming. Though she always expected her first dreams to be about the necrophiliac, this was a pleasant surprise. Fire and shrapnel rained around her like a warm acid rain in D.C. Blue fluorescent lights flickered on, off, on off above her and blared through her skull. When her eyes fluttered open, everything was blurry yet sharp all at the same time. She tried to pull her hands to her face to shroud her eyes from the harsh colors and light, but only one came up to shadow her brow. She could make out small piles of orange and larger forms of dark blue and harsh red. Her breathing was shallow, the smoke quickly invading her senses. Georgia tried to cough the scorching smoke from her lungs as her senses slowly crept back to her. The blobs in the room became more defined and more terrifying. She quickly sucked more air and smoke into her lungs when it finally occurred to her that the masses of dark blue and red were dead bodies, most with large sections of metal piercing their guts or their brains. One man had his face crushed under a collapsed section of the ceiling, his blood and brains splattered near his head. His fingers still twitched as flames slowly began to consume his body. Bile rose in her throat, but she pushed it down and looked away to stare at her boots before she could have a full blown panic attack. A head rested at her boots, its mouth gaping wide open as a large shard of glass stuck from its throat. Georgia couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, its scalp burned and its nose bloody. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. Its fingers lazily pried at the strap over her ankle. Georgia pushed a scream down her throat and began wiggling her foot out of the strap, already loosened thankfully to the inmate at her feet. Time was starting running faster, her once sluggish and sleepy mind finally taking grip of her predicament and taking action. Her left hand fumbled to loosen the strap holding her right hand, the ruined neurons and dead pinky finger twitching and shaking. Once the last hand strap untightened and ripped off, Georgia collapsed to the floor onto her knees, her last strap painfully digging into her ankle and contorting her fall before finally snapping. She cried out in pain, her ankle searing with pain. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, turning the pain switch off and the flight switch on.

Georgia crawled from the wreckage, her palms and thighs digging into tiny pieces of glass, but she ignored the blood pooling in her hands and on her uniform. The guards could go fuck themselves if they yelled at her for ruining her uniform. She wiggled into the hallway and jumped up, surveying the area. More grotesque bodies and more shrapnel lined the walls. Ash scorched the loose white frames of the ceiling, threatening to collapse any moment. Screaming and the sound of bodies sizzling surrounded her. The doors lining the walls had shadows pounding against their frames, the hinges becoming looser and looser with each slam. Angry and desperate voices screeched from the inside as the blaze slowly inched closer and closer, closing in on its prey. Georgia soared down the hall despite pain resonating through her ankle, fearing what hardened criminals waited behind the doors. Georgia wasn’t some terrorist or cold blooded murderer. She was a street prostitute. She could never compete with the skills and thought process of her peers.

As she continued to barrel down the hallway, more and more disfigured bodies began to pile over one another, as if they had been in combat when they both suddenly dropped dead. Georgia stopped to regain her stamina and paused to examine a body. Two girls with hulking shoulders and broad, bloody fists lay dead in the hall; one’s face was smashed in a wall while the other’s chest was pounded in, her ribs pressing up against her skin. She did not breathe but her eyes still fluttered, as if she was trying not to fall asleep. Her chin wobbled and her foot twitched. Georgia stared incredulously at the inmate, her mouth open in shock. Sickness surged through her stomach, and she purged at the woman’s feet, her bile scattering over her boots. She leaned back, landing flat on her ass with her hands flailing in the air. Her Prime chip pressed against the skin of her wrist, turning the area into a white square. She glanced at her other wrist and read her prisoner information.
In bright white letters the words terrorist and murderer stretched over her veins. She huffed a short and wry laugh. They might as well have put whore there as well. Not like she hadn’t been called that before.

Bellow her listed capital crimes, 22:07:2235, 10:49 read on her wrist. No, no, now she had to be dreaming. She couldn’t be stuck in that ice box for over a hundred years. No, they would’ve pulled all the inmates out if the program failed and shipped them back to Earth either to be transferred or to be executed.

Her chest constricted as she told herself blatant lies, a million explanations and fears screaming in her head all at once. Her lungs swelled and tightened, forcing the air and smoke from her system. Her dry throat narrowed, blocking her trachea. She collapsed and leaned her failing body against a wall, pressing her sweaty forehead and arms onto the cool surface. Calm down, her mother’s scratchy voice echoed in her head. Steady your breath, the voice in her head urged. Georgia pushed away all of her thoughts. She put away all the adrenaline, guilt, anger, fear, and uncertainty that stirred uncomfortably in her gut and forced it into a locked box. She cleared her mind and clenched her fists, her left hand scrambling to catch up with her right hand. Her fingernails dug into her palms, her scar especially biting through her body. Her blood spiked as she focused on the low ache vibrating through her bones. “You’re alive,” she whispered to herself. “You’re here.” She slowly sucked air through her nose and exhaled through her mouth. “You’re alive.”

Georgia yanked herself back up and began running from the scene, adrenaline rushing back to her skull. Just as she began to barrel through a door, she could barely make out words through the air.

”Hey fuckface!”

Her brain could barely grasp the words before a boom echoed through the open air. Blood and brain matter splattered at her feet just as she rounded the corner.

A man lay on the ground, his face blown open, the gap between his eyes leaking red. Three female inmates were a few yards; two knocked down and one standing proud with a gun. Georgia’s eyes immediately honed in on the gun, its barrel glinting in the fluorescent lights. She gulped, her throat dry. She wanted that gun. She needed it.

[Kingfisher]

Don’t. Move.

The gleaming iron girder above slipped free with a sharp crack, swooping down right infront of Ristachev’s face. By some miracle, a loose cable had wound its way around the metal support, which was preventing it from pounding the ex-President into a dark red smear. He lay there in his open cryostasis pod, trying to remain completely still. Ristachev wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but he’d awoken from his long nap, only to come face-to-face with almost certain doom as the ceiling came away ontop of him. His pod had taken the brunt of the damage, but now it had burst open, and there was a great big stabby death pole inches from his face.

The Russian ever-so-slowly edged forwards, gently pushing himself up out of the turned over pod.

CREEEEEK!

The girder let out another strained wail, and Ristachev threw himself from the pod; seemingly in a nick of time, as the steely pillar suddenly came crashing down to the world below. He hit the ground with a thud, letting out a deep groan as he clattered against the hard floor, landing painfully on his elbow.

Heaving himself to his feet, the russian quickly dusted off his overalls, as he surveyed the damage around him.

Jagged shards of glass had been sprinkled about the place like some hellish snow storm, and great big hunks of twisted metal were dotted across the floor. The Apox centre’s once sturdy steel walls had buckled under their own weight, and a sickly gash had torn straight through the metalwork, opening up into the world beyond.

Ristachev stepped cautiously out onto a narrow hallway, and felt cool air wash over him for the first time in an eternity. A chilling wind swept in through a hole in the ceiling above, sending his pale flesh into gooseprickles. After countless years in a cramped little box, the fresh icy tang which graced his mouth had all the nourishment of a mother’s embrace.

“Savour that. You’ll never feel anything quite like it, ever again.”

A scrawny blonde figure stood not too far from Ristacehv, leaning limply against one of the crumpled steel walls. The Russian’s senses were still flickering back to life, and it was no wonder he’d been delayed in spotting the newcomer.

“My brother said something quite similar about fucking for the first time, but I found it to be much more enjoyable once I’d tried a few more positions.” Ristachev replied in a cool, calm voice. His english was almost perfect, and a light russian accent flowed softly through his words.

The blonde let out a raspy chuckle, but then scrunched up his face in pain and stumbled slightly.

“Don’t make me laugh,” he wheezed “I think my lungs might fall out.”

He shakily moved one arm, and a deep crimson smear became visible, splattered all over his now exposed side.

“Take a tumble down the stairs?”

“Something like that.”

The blonde man hissed through tightly clenched teeth, before slipping and crashing down to the ground. His head thudded against the metal wall, and his limp body lay crumpled across the floor. He let out some sort of guttural moan as his blood seeped across the floor, pooling out around him.

Ristachev took a few calculated steps towards him, leaning down so that he was level with the wounded stranger.

Too late did the Russian see the metallic glisten of the razor which was tucked inside his overalls.

A flash of steel, and the small, stubby blade had been jammed into his cheek. It bit into him, ripping through his flesh, as an eruption of blood spurted forth from his mouth, splattering out against the cold steel world around him. He gasped as blood jumped and bubbled out of him, collapsing backwards with a thud as pain rocketed through every cell in his body. His heart was pounding in his ears, and his vision was starting to shift and blur, breaking away into vivid explosions of red. His back arched as a spasm of hot agony shot from him, and he coughed up another sticky eruption of dark red.

His attacker pulled the blade free from Ristachev’s cheek, and a whole new realm of suffering shot through him. He felt his lifeblood, hot and sweet, as it pumped through his mouth, moving in perfect symphony with his heart beat.

The blonde man, now so many blurred red shapes in a void of blood, loomed over him, forcing him into the ground with his knees. Another flash of steel, and the blade was in his hand again, twinkling in the dim light.

Fighting through the pain, Ristachev sent his clenched fist shooting upwards in a burst of speed, smashing into the side of his attackers neck and connected with his vagus nerve. Spitting and spluttering, the man lost control of his body as his nervous system went into spasms, his knife clattering to the ground whilst his flailing limbs became soft and supple.

Scrunching up his face as torment raked his body, Ristachev grabbed hold on the razor, plunging it into his attacker’s throat with all that remained of his strength.

A few sharp gasps, and then the blonde man was sprawled out across the ground, his pulse slowing, and his eyes fluttering closed.

Moving quickly, Ristachev tore the dead man’s overalls into tattered strips with his bare hands, making them into makeshift bandages which he wove painfully around his bleeding likeness.

Grunting and gasping, the Russian stumbled through the steel corridors of the Apox centre, struggling to keep himself from succumbing to the agony which had wormed its way beneath his skin and burrowed into his very being.

[Heat]

He woke up for the first time in a long time, at first Joseph Parry believed he was hallucinating as he took in his surroundings. Utter chaos and carnage, two corpses were near him, each of them a bloody mess. He hadn't killed them, or at least didn't remember if he did. There was too much blood for it to be him anyway, he got sick at the sight of too much and as such turned his head away from the sight as he tried to push himself up to his feet off the cold ground. A shard of glass was embedded in his forearm, though he was lucky as it had missed sticking into an artery. Joe grunted as he pulled it out, then stared at the wound as blood slowly started to leak out of it.

The convicted serial killer rose up slowly and carefully, he could feel a few bruises along his whole frame, but he had somehow avoided any serious injuries such as a bone break. He ran one of his hands over his face and was beyond relived to find his perfect features untouched besides a nose bleed. He pressed his nose against his clothing as he walked, the shard of glass still in his other hand as he approached one of the dead bodies. Joseph knelt down next to one of them, avoiding stepping into the puddle of blood, and also avoiding staring at it too long or else feelings of nausea would have hit him. Joe carefully cut off a thick, long strand of clothing from one of the corpses. They wouldn't need it, they were dead, he wasn't, thankfully.

Joe carefully moved out of the room he was in, wrapping the torn cloth around the wound on his arm as he did. He had taken a quick survey of the room before he had left it and found nothing of use. Shattered pods with nobody inside of them, others still standing but he had no clue how to open them. Besides, the ship was full of savages, people that made him look like the Pope in comparison. It was more likely than not that there was no one worth yanking out of the cryo pods. They'd just turn around and stab him in the back after he helped them. He walked throught a hallway, more dead bodies along the way, he hadn't seen any signs of life since he had awoken, just corpses.

He paused and leaned against a wall near him, one of the bruises on his leg aching. Then his eyes caught sight of the something on his wrist, his listed crimes. Twelve counts of first degree murder. That was correct, he remembered every single one, every single detail about each of his beautiful victims. Then he glanced at the listed time and date just below his crimes, he had been in cryo far longer than he had liked to be if he was indeed out of it and not in some other situation. Then his eyes flashed upwards at a booming sound, the extremely distinct sound of a gun being fired a short ways from him. He wasn't the only one alive, that was somewhat reassuring, but then again, anyone who had fired a gun needed to do it, probably drew the attention of anyone else within hearing distance of it.

Joe walked with purpose now, he would need a plan, a person with a gun was not one to be trifled with. He had no weapon himself, and attacking them would be the absolute last option. Perhaps he could try to play his injuries as much worse than they actually were, maybe play to their sense of empathy and hope they would try to help him. He could act very well, it was just a matter of hoping they would buy it. If they were criminals deemed terrible enough to be placed on Apox then he would have needed to use extreme caution. He moved towards where he last heard the gunshot, then he caught sight of figures in the distance, women from the look of it. Even better, he was much better at dealing with them than men. He weakened his walk, then finally went down to the floor in a stumble.

"H-help, anyone please!" He exclaimed loudly, hopefully enough for them to take notice. Then he rested one of his hands on his stomach, faking internal trauma as he hid the smirk on his face, confident as always.

[Mateotis]

SEPTEMBER 21 2088, SUBURBS, NEW YORK

Jacob Sharner was sitting in the small and messy living room of his apartment, situated in the outskirts of the grand metropolis that is New York. The house was not spacious by any measure, only featuring the most essential functions. But it did not matter the slightest for the man. It was relatively cheap and he could spend almost the entire day working on his numerous projects unopposed and undisturbed.
He had his white laptop on his lap in this very moment. His fingers were running through the reinforced plastic keyboard with the speed of light, only stopping every now and then to adjust his glasses. He was currently working on cracking one of the largest UN databases - a project he took on a month ago after one of his numerous contacts tipped him off that he will find a great amount of information on the Prime system in there. Of course, he was playing with fire. The local UN headquarters were not even that far in the heart of the city, tracking him down would have been child's play. Although he has been living here for several years now and there was never even a clue that anyone found a track leading to him. After all the efforts he made to make his online presence untraceable - he was not surprised and not afraid either.

A small bleep interrupted his focus. A couple keypresses later he was at the source. It was a chat window popping up on the familiar dark red background of the Outerweb - the most expansive rebel network. Hidden behind numerous proxies, requiring many secret codes and various methods of identification, the Outerweb was the flagship of the anti-UN movement, a safe haven for anyone who wants to deal whatever business away from the watching eyes of the mass surveillance, anonymously.
Needless to say Jake frequented the place, and gained quite a fame here as well. He regularly published exploits into a variety of UN systems and was contacted often with inquiries about security. However, he never made any long-lasting connections with anyone and never revealed himself either - using 'The Shadow Joker' as his moniker while browsing.
He did not expect anything new this time either. The other user's name was a line of random numbers, indicating that they cannot even risk using a fake ID, lest they are discovered. An intrigued "Hmm..." left Jake as the conversation began.

[16:27] 78933698: Hello?
[16:28] The Shadow Joker: Hello.
[16:28] 78933698: Are you the unknown hacker from the recent Most Wanted list?
[16:28] The Shadow Joker: Yes. My fame seems to have outreached myself...
[16:29] 78933698: No time for small talk now. I have something I believe would genuinely interest you.
[16:29] The Shadow Joker: And what would that be exactly?
[16:30] 78933698: Top security clearance codes for Prime. Gives you access to pretty much everything.

It took a moment for Jake to recompose himself after seeing the anonymous person's message. The Prime mainframe was almost the only thing he could not hack into, despite trying a million times in the past. And now someone is presenting him the easiest way on a silver platter. Too good to be true. Definitely too good to be true.

[16:31] The Shadow Joker: Sounds great. Send them.
[16:31] 78933698: I can't. Need to meet in person.
[16:31] The Shadow Joker: Yeah sure...
[16:32] 78933698: I have to sign off now. I know you can identify me. Third track, Union Square station, tomorrow, 10 am.

With these final words, the mysterious user signed off the network. Jake took a few seconds to evaluate everything that was just said. The person was right, he could indeed track them down even over the Outerweb. Putting his hash cracking work to halt for the moment, he got to the identification. First the in-network IP was traced back to its owner, then he deobfuscated the chat client's script to find the real address from which the connection was made. From there it was only a matter of geocaching and database-sweeping to find the person behind the jumbled numbers.
"Elmina Lennox..." he muttered in front of himself as he pulled up the window from none other than a UN worker database. "UN official... Medic..." he read the information out loud. "What could she have to do with the Prime system..."
For the first time in years, Jake felt absolutely stumped. He just discovered someone's complete identity from nothing but an IP over one of the most secure networks in the world in 15 minutes. Yet, he had absolutely no idea how to progress further. To say that he was curious was an understatement - he would have given a great deal to get his hands on the Prime codes. But could he trust someone from within the very UN that is out to capture him...?

SEPTEMBER 22 2088, UNION SQUARE SUBWAY ENTRANCE, NEW YORK

His extreme interest ended up getting the better of him. There he was, standing at the waiting platform of the third train track just a couple minutes from 10 as it was specified. It was still rush hour, nobody noticed the young man with his usual grey hoodie on, reclining to one of the pillars and deep in his thoughts.
He had absolutely no backup plan here. If some UN special forces bust into the station, he would be done for. Yet still he had that little naivety in him, that he would not be led into a trap. Because of his BPD, he never knew how to rationally judge social situations - he either trusted someone fully or not at all. This time, mostly thanks to the topic in question, it was the former.
He looked at his watch: 9:59. It was almost time. He was hoping this Elmina will be on time and will indeed bring what they bargained for. Fortunately, he did not need to wonder for long. Not even a minute later a familiar-looking woman approached him. Neither of them said a word until she eventually pulled out a microchip and slid it into his hand.
"There. Look, this is just the beginning. There are greater plans in motion still, of which you will be notified in time. Be ready."
Jake could only nod once and say a faint "Thanks" before the woman left for the just-arriving train. He did not hesitate much either, quickly taking the exit of the subway.

He could finally examine the microchip once he was back at home. It was a special high-capacity model with the UN logo engraved. This wasn't always Elmina's, he thought...and did not think further. Whatever the medic did to acquire this piece of treasure was none of his concern. He quickly hooked it up with his laptop and got right to the contents. "So far so good..." he said as a number of files flashed up and reflected on his glasses. "Time for the crash course."
Finding a gateway site to access the Prime mainframe was no small feat in itself, but once that was out of the way, it was all in the scripts and codes on the microchip. Jake compiled a batch file from all of them then pressed 'Execute'.
The scripts closed automatically after they were run. Jake waited a couple more seconds with fingers crossed, when suddenly three large words in green popped up: 'Welcome to Prime'.

He was in. He was in the Prime system. He could see anything and do anything. However, before he could do anything, a bleep was heard again.

[11:04] 78933698: Don't do too much just yet please. They cannot detect that you have access.

APRIL 5 2090, JAKE'S HOME, NEW YORK

As difficult was it at times, Jake kept himself to his promise and did not fiddle with the Prime system. Instead, he used the codes as the masterkey for almost everything else. The amount of data he uncovered in just half a year was staggering and it became more and more difficult to cover up all his tracks to safely submit some of the knowledge to the Outerweb. He never forgot about Elmina's messages either. In fact, the two have remained in loose online contact through this time, exchanging thoughts every now and then. Nothing personal.
It was on the night of April 5 that he heard the familiar notification sign again in a month.

[21:47] 78933698: It's time. Enter the Prime.
[21:47] The Shadow Joker: On it...
He quickly launched the same batch file, which finished a lot quicker than last time.
[21:47] The Shadow Joker: Done.
[21:47] 78933698: Excellent. Look for an upload tab somewhere.
[21:48] The Shadow Joker: Got it, but...this one wasn't here the first time I entered.
[21:48] 78933698: I've given you sysop access...whatever that is.
[21:48] The Shadow Joker: Isn't that...only reserved for the head of Prime?
While typing, he also quickly looked through all the other tabs. He indeed have full access.
[21:49] 78933698: He's dead. Along with the network security boss. Look, it is not the time to ask questions. You need to upload a virus.
Jake looked at the screen with eyes wide open. The head of Prime, dead just like that? He did not have much time to think.
[21:50] The Shadow Joker: What virus?
[21:50] 78933698: One that will completely ravage the entire system. Bringing down their main regime machine will deal the greatest blow ever dealt to the UN.
[21:50] The Shadow Joker: Uhh...
[21:50] 78933698: Please. I'm counting on you. Everyone does.
[21:51] The Shadow Joker: Give me a minute.

Jake put the chat window away, took a couple deep breaths and started focusing. He just needs to write a script that will overwrite all safety measures of the system and cause as much damage as possible within it. He opened his favorite editor and started cranking out the code.

[21:58] 78933698: Hello? Are you still there?
[21:58] The Shadow Joker: Just a couple more lines...
[21:59] The Shadow Joker: This is all I could do. Once it runs, it should cripple most of Prime's main functions. The problem is, I could not set a specific date, only some conditions.
[21:59] 78933698: What does that mean?
[21:59] The Shadow Joker: I have no idea when will it actually execute...
[21:59] 78933698: Let's just hope for the best then.
Jake had great concerns about this, he did know for sure what will he actually unleash upon the world. But the heat of the moment could not allow for anymore thinking.
[22:00] The Shadow Joker: Uploaded and buried deep within the mainframe. No one will ever notice.
[22:00] 78933698: Thank you. This is probably the last you will hear from me, but... You have done a great service. Goodbye.

Once he saw Elmina sign off, he shut down the computer, put it away and laid down on his couch. He needed some rest.

JULY 2235, B DECK OF THE APOX SPACE-PENITENTIARY, NORTH CAROLINA

Warning: Energy supply disabled. Stasis field off. Connecting to emergency generators...
Warning: Energy supply disabled. Stasis field off. Connecting to emergency generators...
A cold body stood suspended to the wall. Head looking down, eyes closed, both hands and feet tied behind the back. There was a distinct outfit on the person too: a grey all-in-one suit, the most standard prisoner clothing.
Emergency generations could not be reached. Power level critical. Cryochamber shutdown imminent...
Emergency generations could not be reached. Power level critical. Cryochamber shutdown imminent...
The monotone AI voice was echoing all over the small chamber the person was in. Above him, a red light started flashing. The three metal restraints that held him tight in place clacked open and pulled back - and he promptly fell on the ground. "Argh!" The sudden pain woke him up. His head was also aching, although not from the fall. He slowly stood up and looked around him. His last memory was of the blue glass snapping into place in front of him and the fading voice 'Commencing stasis...'. Now, the glass front was broken into a hundred little pieces and the same AI was now announcing a system failure. For how long was he out?
He moved out of the chamber that has been 'home' to him for many years now, his black boots shattering the glass pieces he stepped on. Once out, a stench smell hit his nose immediately - smoke that was, coming from the left. Unfortunately, the steel staircase that connected all the pods was also to the left, all he could do is pull up his shirt to his nose to block some of the toxic smoke. This, paired with the fact that his head was still heavy and dizzy almost made him pass out on the spot, he just barely reached the stairs.
He managed to spot the source of the smoke from there as well - it came from a couple rows above him from a half-destroyed cryochamber. "What the hell happened here?!" he asked himself in utter confusion. He could not wonder for long as the burning pod exploded just a couple seconds later and rubble started falling all around him.
He quickly scurried down the stairs until he was safe from the direct fallout. Directly to his right stood a terminal - his favorite plaything on those few occasions he was let out of his cell to do work for the UN. He quickly turned it on. "Please work, please work..." Fortunately it did, letting out a satisfying buzz as it booted up.
First thing he did was look at the date. July 2235. He froze in place.
"Okay Jake, this is fucked up but you gotta get to safety first..." he muttered, taking deep breaths and trying to keep his imminent panic down for a little more. He browsed through the machine before eventually finding the security camera feeds. From the nine available, only two showed any kind of picture: one from the C Deck, the other from the entrance. Jake gasped when he saw movement on the second camera and even a person, who quickly disappeared from sight.

It did not matter. He had to get down.

[Jb]

Dreaming...he was actually dreaming, for the first time in a hundred years images of parents, lovers and victims entered formerly sparse landscape of the Beasts mind; from scenes of a happy childhood, to others of bloody massacres seen done by his own two hands. Faces and voices swam about in his brain, and for just a moment he was content, until his mind began to question itself - why had he suddenly began dreaming? What had changed now? Something had changed, even without being fully awake or opening his eyes he knew it...

"Hemi!" Came the voice, the face of his father floating before his minds eye, "Hemi, you stupid fucker, wake the fuck up boy."

"I-I can't move, Pa. Why can't I move?"

"Open yer damn eyes boy," the form of the elder Munro stalked toward his dream self, arms outstretched as if to choke the life from him, "wake up!"

Air, fresh air! His lungs flickered into life within him, his other organs soon following suit, his senses once more acting as his guides - for his eyes would still not open, not just yet - so that he could hear the wails, screams and moans of others, could feel the frigid touch of metal at his wrists and ankles. The restraint that was supposed to be at his neck must have come loose, for he could not feel it constricting him in any way, twisting his neck and smiling to himself at the sound of popping, taking in another deep breath through his diaphragm...but this time there was something different.

Smoke

Only now did his eyes open, taking in his surroundings with surprising speed, his entire body tensing against the padding of the wall and straining against the restraints which still bound him in place within the cell; his sweeping and increasingly frantic gaze did not miss the pertinent fact that the entirety of the front of his cell was now a gaping wound void of the glass front through which he surmised the guards must have monitored him during his incarceration. Oddly enough, it was probably this very piece of of the cell, doubly thick as it was, that had protected him from being annihilated simply by the initial fall of the station.

Just outside in the corridor, where warning lights illuminated the shadows with there flickering beams, and sirens proceeded to deafen him with there incessant noise, he could make out what looked like bodies, bodies veiled by the darkness that seemed to have engulfed his section of the cells. Perhaps the power had been damaged somehow? He thought to himself, though the power and lightning within his cell continued to work, as did that of the cell across the corridor from his own, a corpse dangling in its restraints with the unmoving figures head at too awkward an angle for the neck not to be broken and the cause of death.

Slowly but surely he began to panic, sweat coating what remained of his torn standard-issue overalls, his head twisting this way and that and increasingly violent attempts being made to wrench either himself or the restraints free from the padded wall. Time and time again he tried, veins bulging in his neck and limbs as he thrashed back and forth again and again, grunts and agonised cries like that of a trapped animal emitted from his throat, his mouth clacking open and shut and his eyes wide.

At long last, tired from his exertions and unwilling to shake himself to pieces without taking a short pause, he was rewarded with a slight loosening of the restraints and some small glimmer of victory - as luck would have it, it was also the same moment that another convicted soul, probably attracted by the base noises coming from the cell, decided to investigate.

"What do we have here then?" It hissed in his direction, a clear Liverpool lisp on the tongue of the man, "well fuck me if it ain't a genuine Maori! Got a couple of tats like that myself," as he, for it was a man, drew closer it was then that Hemi could pick out the details of the gaunt face, the yellowed teeth, and the constant twitching of the skeletal man as he got closer. Here was an addict if he had ever seen one, needle marks still plainly visible on the arms of the armed fellon - a piece of metal piping gripped unsteadily in one quivering hand - beneath the mock Maori markings, quite the fashion at the time of his incarceration.

One thing that did catch the eye of the slow but cunning New Zealander was the bracelet-type band about the wrist of the prisoner, a date and time that could not possibly be correct blinking silently but repeatedly before his very eyes.

"Kai hamuti! Kai kurakura." He managed to cough, spitting toward the man for good measure, calming himself down to the point that he now slowly began to apply more pressure to the loosening straps, hoping that this wretch wouldn't be able to tell.

"You what, mate?!" Cackled the Scouse in disbelief, gesturing toward him with the piping and allowing a look of annoyance to make itself known on his skull-like face, "look, I dunno what you're playing at, but I got the focking pipe see! So no more of your ooga-booga language, you twat." As if to emphasise his point, spittle already flying quite freely from his ruined mouth, the drug fiend slammed the pipe into the wall right next to the head of the taller and broader man.

It would be his first and last mistake.

Cornered animals, as anyone with any sense knows, are the worst animals; they will fight you, they will tear at you, and they will not cease until they are dead. Hemi was surely one such animal at that moment, seeing in the man's eyes that he would gladly butcher the Maori for no other reason than he could, he was a man without morals, without honour, without a soul. Whatever mistakes he had made in his life, the life before he was imprisoned, no longer mattered! It would all come to a head in the next few moments.

With a roar like a loosed tiger the restraints finally gave way, leaving the wall with a load screech of tortured metal, Hemi using the momentum of his own body weight being freed to launch himself at the antagonist - if he had not been about to tear him apart, fuelled by artificially dimmed bloodlust and aggression as he was, Hemi might have laughed at the look on the man''s face but, as it was, he simply did what he had intended to do from the moment this shit had entered the room and bite his fucking face off.

"Oh fu-!"

The words never left the mouth of the Englishman, not even a sound emerging as he flailed about with his improvised, but in his hands useless, weapon in an attempt to survive. It was not to be, the teeth of the Maori sinking deep into his neck, a twisting of that thick neck tearing off a gobbet of muscle, nerves and blood vessels which was spat out so that he could go back for three more bites; by the time he had finished, the pipe fell from nerveless fingers, blood pooled about the carcass of what had once been a form of man, and Hemi took up the pipe before slipping out into the darkened corridor.

Somehow he had become accustomed to the smoke by now, the scent of it not longer worrying him, overpowered perhaps by the warm but metallic taste of blood in his mouth, every movement he now made - every placement of his foot, every flaring sniff of his nostrils, every glance of his adjusting eyes - like that of some hulking predatory animal deep within the bowels of the station.

It did not matter to him, inspecting for the first time the blood-smeared device on his own wrist, that he had been incarcerated for over a hundred years - he could not give a shit! He was still the same age as he had been when he entered the Apox, remaining in good health throughout that period, and now was free in a world which he correctly guessed would have changed astronomically during his time in the black world of induced unconsciousness he had become accustomed to.

Oh yes, he liked this...

He silently swore to find a way out of the clearly decimated station - unconcerned as to how or why it was now how it was - fully capable and willing to carve through anyone that tried to impede his progress, and once he reached the hopefully fresh air of the world outside and whatever awaited him, he would adapt and he would do what beasts did best.

It was survival of the fittest now, and he did not intend to see that eternal blackness again for a very, very, long time.

[Moon]

“What the fuck.”

Elijah shook his head, scrunching his eyes closed. It was quite an extreme transition between what was essentially nothing to where he was now. Loud noises, smoke, pain, heat. His brain was overloaded with the myriad new feelings and senses he was lucky enough to be taking in. It took him a minute or two to actually get to a point where he was even moderately capable of being a functioning person. His head still throbbed, and the lights were still bright in his eyes. He had, what he could only assume, was the worst hangover ever.

After giving himself a moment to regain control of his most basic functions, Eli began to regain his mind. Like every time he blacked out while drinking, Eli forced himself to recall the last memory he had access to. With this, his situation became clear. His last memory was being placed into cryostasis, to live out the rest of eternity in a nice little pod floating in space. Then he had been put to sleep by UN authorities, now he was being woken up by something a lot sharper, a lot more metal, and probably a lot more fun to be around.

The metal spike had slipped its way right through the “protective” glass cover that was on the front of his pod, leaving the surface of it splintered with a thin spider web of cracks. It had lodged itself directly to his left, though not before cutting through a part of his shoulder. It could be worse, but Eli wasn’t currently in the silver lining kind of mindset.

His shoulder seared as he loosened the straps that held him into the pod. Luckily the restraints were only to keep them in place and could be, with a little work, escaped from. Another stroke of luck allowed Eli to push open the door of his pod, which had opened but had been held somewhat in place by the metal spike. A bit of a shove dislodged the spike from the back of the pod and allowed the door to swing free. Eli slipped, less than gracefully, to the ground. He landed on his hands and knees, narrowly avoiding the small glass shards that the spike had left so kindly for him to find.

A quick glance around his immediate area revealed that all hell had broken loose on the ship between the time whatever had went wrong did and now. The place was a shithole. Glass, metal, and bodies littered the ground. Smoke and noise filled the air. Sirens were blaring, alarms were beeping, and people were screaming and choking and weeping. Overall it seemed like cryosleep was a much more pleasant time.

Only once he had confirmed his own immediate safety, or at least as well as he could, did he entertain the thought of what had happened. It didn’t look like security was very tight at the moment, given all the dead bodies on the ground were prisoners and that some looked like they had perished from means other than a crash or whatever had happened. The systems didn’t seem to be running properly, given that he was awake to realize that. Also the lights were growing increasingly dim, but mostly the being awake thing. Maybe they had decided the program wasn’t worth their time and they crashed the place into the moon or something. Eli couldn’t really figure it out, so he figured there wasn’t much of a point in pondering it any longer. What mattered now was what he was going to do next.

He figured a weapon would be a good idea, and moved back to the front of his pod. “And so we meet again,” he spoke, under his breath. The metal spike came easily out of the glass, apparently longing to taste blood once more. It was a good enough weapon for the time being, heavy enough and sharp enough. It was round for the most part at one end, providing a good enough handle.

The movement angered the burning red line that ran along his left shoulder, causing it to call out in the most unpleasant of ways. Eli felt the pain and felt his arm grow warmer as the red fluid slipped down his arm, staining his prison uniform.

A light tug pulled the already torn fabric of the uniform free from itself, separating the almost the entire left arm of the suit from the body. Eli then tore it again into a nice strip which would provide a nice enough bandage for the time being.

With his bleeding stopped for the moment, Eli moved his mind onto more important things. Namely how he looked. From what he could tell his face was still intact, which was good. His hair had seen better days, but he had just woken up so who could really blame him? All that was left was his outfit. He certainly couldn’t walk around a malfunctioning prison ship potentially filled to the brim with well rested psychopaths looking like a fool, and only having one sleeve was certainly not the best look. He briefly considered tearing off the other sleeve, but decided he didn’t quite have the muscles for the sleeveless look. Instead, he slipped his upper body out of the garment and tied it at his waist, using the sleeve and the little nub left over from the other sleeve.

With that out of the way, Eli turned his focus to the cuff on his wrist. It had his name, incarceration details, and serial number on it. He had been happy to get the number he did. 00100. It had a nice symmetry to it. Then he noticed the date on the cuff, 2235. Damn, he was old as shit.

[Komo]

At first there was nothing. Then, there was everything.

Laura woke, what supposed to be her eternal slumber now interrupted by something very violent. The sound & noises came to her first. The repeated blaring noises of the deafening alarm systems that seemed to go on forever. If it wasn't the alarms, it was alert of the some sort. Sight arrived to her as her eyes eventually regained focus for the first time in what felt like forever. Her gaze landed upon the dull gray steel plates that made up the walls of the floating space prison she was in. She saw blood smeared on the floors, crimson streaks decorated the surface amidst shards and panels of glass on the wall. Wait. Why was there glass and blood on the wall? Realisation then came to her.

That was not a wall. It was the floor, and wherever she was, she was facing it. Looking around, Laura realised that she was in a cryostasis pod, similar to various others that now stood in room, now empty. Most of the pods had fallen off their supports but a couple still remained in their original positions. Then it all came back to her, the defining moments that led to her being in this damn god-forsaken place in the first place.

Laura had been in a secret rebel hideout, planning the next demonstration with several of the other rebel leaders, when there had been a raid by the UN Special Forces. Caught totally by surprise, there was nothing much any of the rebels could do. They managed to put up a good fight, but that was nothing compared to the battle-readiness of the UN soldiers. The next thing she knew, she was ferried to the space prison and placed in ice for society's sake. There had either been a mole within them or a traitor. Laura was more inclined to guess the former.

Their followers had been loyal to a fault, that it was difficult to believe that one of them would actually betray their cause and their fellow comrades to the likes of the UN. The next thing that came to her mind was to free herself of her restrains, the only thing keeping her tied to the useless contraption she was in right now. The straps were easy to get out off, their purpose not meant to prevent escape, but to secure the body within the machine.

Eventually loosening all the straps, the blonde fell to the floor with a bang. Laura felt the throb of her back aching as it hit the floor. It was then that the blonde inspected herself for the very first time. The blonde was wearing the same grey jumpsuit that all the prisoners wore. There were holes and slits in several places, the fabric torn off by the glass shards by the fall. Except for un- godly amount of bruises that was sure to develop in due time, she was in-tact for now.

On her wrist was a black electronic bracelet that all the prisoners wore, and hers read. 22:07:2235, 10:48. The words, ARSON and MURDER was also embossed onto the braclet, likely the most serious crimes she was imprisoned for. Laura was stunned for several moments, before giving out a smirk as the realisation sinked in. A hundred years, give or take. She had been asleep for almost a century! That would also put her to more than a hundred years old, but she guessed that anyone prisoners like here that had survived whatever had befallen them would be equally as old as well. Now, that for a strange turn of events.

She gradually stood up slowly, as the woman got her footing. She stumbled out of the room she had been in, looking upon the carnage the assaulted her eyes. The stench was repugnant and the sight not much better. Corpses littered the hallways, various shrapnels and god-knows what embedded in their bodies. Whilst Laura was traversing the obstacle-laden complex now filled with fallen pillars and wreckage among piles of corpses, when she saw a lone woman headed to the top of the prison, or where the top would normally be in this wreckage.

Laura tailed the woman, making sure to remain unseen for the moment while she figured out what the other prisoner was up to. As she got up to the top, a glance later, she saw the woman attempting to open the door with her wrist. Did she have a special chip to get in there? This could prove interesting. After several brief moments, she heard the door open, albeit only slightly, and as she peeked around, Laura saw the other woman struggling to get the door open, using as much leverage as she could muster. The woman then shouted, asking for help for anyone present. She must have been desperate to call out in such a manner, when she had no idea who was present, friend or foe.

It was then that she rushed forward, lending her own force to the door, and the combined effort of the two women would soon see the door open, with more than enough space for them both to get through. Once they got in, the other convict began to rummage around in the various metal cabinets for supplies. Laura looked around on her own, searching in areas that the other woman had not yet covered. Mostly, medical supplies, she noticed. Must be an medical station of some sort. The woman than spoke, turning towards Laura as she handed her a black coloured object. A weapon! A pistol to be exact.

She was asked if she knew how to use one of these. "I do. Used them plenty of times before in the past. Pretty good with them as well, if my memory serves." She watched as the other woman continued cramping various items into her bag, as Laura kept a lookout. Several moments later, they were ready to leave, their raid finished. The pair began their descent down, their journey more treacherous than before, with their packs full of looted supplies. Laura was about to take another step forward when the woman in front of her fell as if knocked down by a hammer. She bumped into her fallen partner, sending the weapon sliding across the floor. The man now stood in front of them menacingly, ready to strike her as well.

[Atrophy]

Sam felt stiff and exhausted. It was the kind of tired one got when they sleep well past their alarm, or in this case seemingly hundreds of them. Over the sirens he could hear shouting and cursing, the pounding of feet on metal, and what even sounded like soft crying. There was a sticky warmth on his face; in fact, there was an uncomfortable heat all around him that was so unbearable it threatened to peel back his skin and char his bones. He tried to breath, and felt his lungs fill with ash as if he had been standing too close to a campfire. It didn't take a detective to figure out what was going on, or that he need to move. Sam pulled himself up into a crouch, ignoring the pain that had replaced the stiffness in his joints. His eyes were quickly forced shut by a dark cloud of acrid smoke, but not before he caught the blurry flash of red emergency lights that he prayed were designating the doorway.

Pulling his shirt that was dampened by the unknown liquid up to his nose in an attempt to create some kind of filter, Sam began to blindly crawl on his knees and elbows towards the exit. He felt his body shift through pools of more liquid—blood, judging by the faint scent of copper he was getting from his shirt. Hopefully it wasn't all his. What he assumed to be shards of glass broke underneath his body, a few fragments working their way through his suit to scratch against his flesh. He thought that a few nicks and some ruined threads was probably better than dying from asphyxiation and certainly better than being turned into a roast. His body crawled over something soft and he heard an injured groan; another person? Sorry. Sam kept crawling.

Risking a face full of smoke, Samuel flashed his eyes open for just a second. Closer to the exit, and the air felt less oppressive. Doubling his efforts, Sam weaseled his way through the rest of the fiery hallway. He clambored over more bodies; these ones didn't make any noises as his elbows and knees dug into them. What the fuck happened? The answer was one he would pry into later. Surviving was key now. He flickered his eyes open again. It looked to be a stairway ahead; the smoke would probably clear up there. Only a few more yards. He closed his burning eyes again. He already regularly needed glasses to read and drive, he didn't need to fuck his vision any further. Just a few more feet. He was breathing less smoke now; it really allowed for him to savor the stench of blood and guts around him. No time to take in all of the flowers, however. Another foot. A few more inches. The stairway, it's right there. Go on, almost, almost--

A strong hand grabbed his leg. Panicked, Sam kicked wildly backwards to shake it off. He felt his heel connect with what might as well have been a block of iron; a curse slipped out of his mouth. Dragging himself and whatever beast had taken hold of him forward, Sam reached out to the railing. His fingers licked the edge of the banister as the man behind him got his other meaty hand onto the waist of Sam's jumpsuit. The man's other fist retaliated against Sam's kicks, hammering the small of his back. Sam's hand finally found a grip and pulled himself onto the descending stairs. Gravity and the added weight of the other man did the rest. The two tumbled head over heels down the first set of stairs before coming into a crash landing on the midway point. Sam heard a deafeningly sound of skull cracking against metal as his opponent's head slammed against the wall. His grip loosened on Sam, and the older man slid off of the larger man.

Resting his head against the wall, Sam took his first moment of peace to try and figure out if he was okay. His hands felt over his body. A bruise here, dried blood there, a few cuts from the glasses peppered into his forearms and legs; nothing seemingly life-threatening. He could breath, see, and hear. He knew his name, his birthday, he could picture his kid (and his exwife), his crimes. He remembered turning himself in, and then they...oh fuck, was he in space? He couldn't recall if the Apox had artifical gravity, or if that was even a real thing. The air on the station had an uncomfortable artificial quality to it, like an overly sterilized hospital. Here the air seemed more natural. Did they somehow crash on Earth? That would explain the disaster scene above him, as unbelievable as it seemed. The man next to him groaned. Sam didn't want to be around when he came to; he needed to find an exit.

Pulling himself up to his feet, Sam's eyes fell for the first time on the black cuff around his wrist. The word “kidnapper” seemed all good and right, but the string of numbers appearing next to it were way off. No way had he spent over a hundred something years living life as a frozen tv dinner. That would mean that...Sam shook the thoughts out of his head. Freak out later, live now. Continuing down the staiway, Sam cut into the closest corridor as he heard feet pounding on the staircase—bringing him nearly face to face with a bleeding, stumbling man. The man looked as if agony was turning him feral. Taking a few steps back as his heart leapt up into his throat, Sam lifted up his wrist and pointed to his crime as if to say, "look, I'm harmless compared to the rest of these fucks". The hazard lights crossed over the injured man's face—Sam felt his mouth slacken slightly. He knew this man, or rather, he knew of this man. It was hard not to when his face was always plastered on the news.

“Fuck you're one tough son of a bitch,” said Sam. “Listen, I would hardly qualify as a doctor but I don't need a PhD to say that you're in rough shape. I-I can help you out of here, just agree not to do anything stupid. Okay?”

[Rosalind]

It felt like fire was radiating through her body, the pounding ache from the contact causing the Doctor to growl as she quickly pushed herself up. Blonde waves had fallen free of the simple braid, surrounding her battered and sweaty face as her green eyes narrowed in on the man who had attacked. But she barely had a second to lock eyes with the culprit before a bullet was sent through his skull, blood spraying the scene as he fell into a crumpled heap on the floor. Elmina watched him fall, her eyes locked on that bullet hole on his head, the dead eyes staring up to the sky. Elmina’s attention was quickly snatched however by the woman who had fired, her hand extending down.

Elmina did not reach at first, if she was a survivor of this than it meant that she was considered too dangerous for earth, her offered hand was far from inviting. But Elmina reached up, placing her palm across the other and pulled herself up to her feet. Elmina reached for the other girl too, helping her steady herself. It was only then that the blonde reached her fingers to the newly inquired injury. Her skin, once previously unblemished and perfectly smooth was now a litter with cuts and bruises, her cheek bone busted from the power of her assailant’s fist. “Fucks sake!” She hissed as she looked to the blood on her fingertips, her English accent quite clear against amongst the American convicts.

Elmina looked around at the wild terrain, before she looked back to the pack she had dropped and rushed forwards, snatching it back up on her arm. Turning to the two women who stood before her, and to the guns in their hands, Elmina sighed. “Come on, we need to get away from here” She said, about to lead them off into the forest. However, barely a step was taken when she heard a voice cry out, someone who sounded in genuine agony. Against her better judgement, she turned around to see a man almost fall out of the exit, cradling his stomach with pain etched across his face. She couldn’t ignore it, that medic’s heart causing her to turn around in aid, but not without cussing once under her breath.

Placing her pack onto the floor, Elmina ran over and hoisted one of his arms about his shoulders, holding firmly onto his hand and wrapping the other around him. “All right” She said to him, helping down the large step from the break in the wall. She assisted him away from the smoking wreckage and towards a slight hill in the ground, lowering him down. Crouching down before him, Elmina peeled back the cloth he had crudely tied about his arm and to the gape in his flesh and suit. “The bag” She called over her shoulder and stuck out her hand, and it was quickly weighed down as the black pack had been placed in hand. She dragged it round to the side and pulled it open, and looked inside. “Where else hurts?” She asked him, though she was not looking at him.

Her hand was rummaging around, searching for the basic kit she knew she had chucked inside. Pulling it out, she looked back to the dark haired male. “I’m going to need to take your arm out” She said to him, calmly as she helped him undo the front of his grey suit. With a steady and gentle glide, she eased his arm out of the sleeve, and quickly set to work.

It was a task she had done numerous times before, but usually she was removing large pieces of metal from various limbs. Elmina had been the chief medic on many rebel attacks, a large number of UN and Prime members owing her their lives and health. However, she wasn’t working with a fully equipped theatre this time, and she would have to make do with whatever that emergency bay provided. So Elmina moved around him and sat a little higher than him, resting his arm across her knees as she took out the sterile bandages from the packets and folded them in half. “This will hurt” She said to him honestly. And then she pressed the folded bandages onto the site, applying pressure.

With the elevated arm applied pressure, the flow of blood would soon stop. “You’re going to have to deal with some pretty crude stitches I’m afraid” She said to him, her spare hand once more rummaging around in the pack. The man still held an arm around himself, and Elmina paused and looked down to him, but then her eyes were distracted by the illuminated letters on his cuff, and the subject with which they spoke. But she refocused her attention back to the matter at hand, waiting till the blood stopped before she would clean and stitch the site closed.

[Irisity]

Georgia stared in disbelief as the woman helped the man. She never thought anyone in this place would've ever dared to help each other, even if there was no real threat between them. She slowly emerged from the shadows as she watched the group, her limp beginning as the adrenaline died down. She kept her hands down but her posture open and her fist unclenched. Look friendly but not helpless. She didn't attempt to smile. Smiling when the world was burnin around you was too faux.

Before coming into their view, Georgia stared at the greenery around her. She hadn't seen or been on this earth in over a hundred years, but it only felt like a few days. Yet, her lungs greedily sucked in the clean air of earth. She scanned the skyline, waiting for helicopters and armies to arrive.

She hesitantly touched her feet to the ground, her boots snapping a twig, alerting her position to the others. She approached slow, but not too slow, and kept her palms in view. While she subconsciously trusted the woman working on the man, she was still wary of the others. She resisted staring at the gun. Staring at the gun might mean she would try to take it, so she studied their faces and ignored the glint on their wrist with words like Murder and Arson. Maybe they were wrongly convicted of their crimes like she was.

Maybe they weren't.

As she came closer, she cleared her dry throat. "Hey," she said in the most non-threatening way possible. The tension was thick in the air. "You guys friendly?"

[Mateotis]

The road ahead of Jake to the entrance was longer than he hoped for. While the suffocating smoke was less present the lower he got, many other obstacles appeared and became more and more frequent. There were large disjointed or unstable hunks of metal all around him, one of them even fell down right after he stepped on it. Not to mention the stairs were not always safe either, some portions were broken or just straight up gone, forcing the absolutely nonathletic Jake to jump, plunge and tumble his way through. Injuries accumulated, but at least he made progress - and that helped keep his cool. He really did not want to break down in the middle of the apocalypse.

And then there were the people. Jake quickly remembered that this is not his quiet, solitary apartment in the suburbs of New York anymore (and even that turned to hell when the UN finally stumbled upon him...memories, one of the last ones). There were a thousand people here - when the facility was functional, that is. Probably half of them were dead because of whatever colossal happened. Probably another bunch by the hands of other inmates right now. Probably he will be the next. Probably he should get the fuck out of here before it's too late. These were the dominating thoughts in his mind when hearing the variously pitched shrieks, yells and screams wherever he went. He never expected that not being an apathetic psychopath would ever hurt him, but this was one such time. What a blessing it would be to just ignore absolutely everything and waltz down the stairs calmly to freedom, he thought. Heck, maybe even embrace the chaos and join the slaughter.

No, Jake was not that kind of man. He was desperately trying to keep his sanity where many lost it and his focus where many panicked. This latter became very difficult when he legitimately felt a gunshot whiz past right next to him. When he looked behind, he saw a tall man with pistol in hand, his expression dead serious. This same sight could have been his very last one were it not for another prisoner who ran into him from the side, seemingly by accident and resulting in a brawl to death. Jake thanked God or whoever was in charge for them so-called wretched criminals and continued moving with hasty steps.

There were still a couple levels to go and all the horror accompanied by the vivid near-death moment just before was starting to get to him. He needed to find something to keep his mind in order and on track - and what is better for the analytical brain than a nicely organized list? Jake collected all the things that he should have thought about earlier if not for the sudden (and very welcomed) kick-in of survival instincts.

1) He is not in space anymore, the Apox centre somehow got down to Earth - crashlanding probable.
Avoid sharp steel pieces sticking out here and there, walk past a bloody corpse impaled on one of them.

2) The facility is not functional anymore, cryostasis off, inmates free and no guards anywhere - all hell is loose.
Descend another level, watch out for more dangerously smoking pods.

3) If the date on the terminal was correct, he is now more than a hundred years old.
Sneak past three arguing inmates, start to see the end of the line and the first ray of sunlight bursting in from a large hole in the wall.

"I can't be far off now..." he muttered with hope and enthusiasm in his voice. The little list-making occupied his mind quite well, he did not have much to go now. Even though he promptly ignored of what will happen after he is out of this hellhole, it was always his style to focus on one thing only - but focus on that one well.

One more dodge, one more jump and there he was. Walking on stable ground at long last, on the long corridor that, after a couple turns, leads to the exit. Jake stopped for a moment. Why, when there was so little remaining from his long and messy path all the way from the middle of the B Deck...he could not answer. All he knew was that it was time to finally catch his breath.
However, when the adrenaline started to wear off, pain took its place. All the small scratches and bruises really added up over the time, his already fragile body sent pulses of agony through him. He also noticed that his left leg did not quite move as the other one - when he pulled up the cloth from there he noticed a very small piece of extremely sharp glass being stuck in his flesh just above his knee. "Oh shit...ohh shiit..."

His hands shook heavily as he tried to get a hold of it. His mind was racing meanwhile, nothing to keep it regulated now. He remembered: he was half-caught in the blast of one of the pods while trying to make a smooth jump through some broken stairs, the glass from its front shot out like shrapnel all around it. And he was unlucky enough to catch one right in the left leg. In fact he was quite amazed he managed to stay so focused he did not even notice what was definitely a great burst of pain. But now it made him suffer in full effect and then some. He knew he had to pull it out, lest the wound get poisoned. And he also knew he may not even be able to walk for a while after he's done.

He hesitated. He took a few steps with the piece still in, but every time he lifted his leg the excruciating pain shot in. In the end he took a deep breath and pulled the glass out with one decisive movement. The next five seconds were the worst ones in his entire life, he wanted to scream from on top of his lungs but he only hissed a great deal. "You spent a hundred years in the company of hardened murderers and now you wanna die because of this little piece of shit..." He scolded himself then started walking, or more like limping towards the exit without stopping this time.

Fortunately there was nothing and no one else in his path and he reached the destination in no time. The sun's warmth and all the green shades of nature were exact and much better opposites to what he saw and felt in the crumbling Apox centre. He looked around, trying to decide where to go next. That's when he noticed a group of people just ahead. There were like five of them. One was quite dead though and another was laying on the ground, possibly injured. The most prominent figure was certainly the woman with long blonde hair, leaning over the injured one and quite possibly the leader, if there was one, of the ragtag group.
Quickly, Jake counted the things needed for his survival.

1) A gun.
2) Some medical help.
3) A pair of glasses - there was a reason he had them since childhood.
4) A fucking clue of what's happening and how to progress.

They seemed to have at least one of these things. So he stepped closer.

"Umm..." he began awkwardly, not thinking too ahead before. "Could I...could I be of any help?"

[Komo]

Laura was left staring at the newcomer who had shot the man with a well-placed shot to the head. She like the girl's style. Firstly, her aim was true, and her choice of words was fantastic. Fuckface indeed. Real classy. Just her style. Facing the woman, she said "Fuckface, huh? I like your style!"The tell-tale sign of an Australian accent probably one of the most prominent and distincive ones around the group.

The first woman who had been her raiding partner earlier on was starting to come to. Her jaw was pretty busted, probably dislocated from the violent blow or something along the lines. Laura helped her up as the other woman's palm rested on her shoulder as the she pushed herself up, uttering a swear word along the way. An english accent. From, England, no doubt.

Names had not been exchanged and she knew none but her own. Seeing as she began to take charge, Laura would refer to her as leader for now. Leader then spoke, urging the two women to get the hell out of here. Their plans to do that, was however rudely interrupted by the loud groan of a dark-haired man who seemed to be in intense agony.

Either that or he was one hell of an actor. The man then tumbled out of the opening, a hand clutching his stomach, face contorted in agonising pain. Leader couldn't seem to resist the sight, as she scrambled to the man's side, eager to treat him. Laura gave a brief click of her tongue, as she observed leader's actions.

That was rather unwise, especially after what happened to her, but leader didn't seem to care. She ran over to him and began preparations to treat the injured man. Laura followed after her, the black pack containing the goodies and supplies they have gathered earlier slung over her shoulder. Leader called for the bag, her palm outstretched.

Unslinging it, Laura handed over the bag to her. Leader got to work immediately, her experience and medical training clearly recognisable. As she treated the man, Laura kept a lookout for any suspicious prisoners, after all they were all deemed dangerous enough to be solved indefinitely in a floating space prison.

Yet another newcomer approached. This time, a female. Laura heard her before she saw her, the sharp crack of a twig piercing the air. She levelled the pistol at the stranger, her black bracelet glistening in the sunlight. The stranger then spoke asking if they were friendly. The blonde replied. "Do we look friendly to you?"A short time later, before the stranger had a chance to answer, yet another one came into the area. A man this time. The place that only seen three earlier were now getting more crowded by the minute.

[JulienJaden]

For a moment, Christine felt almost pouty. No 'thank you', no nod, not a single indication that the woman appreciated that she had removed her assailant from the equation. In a place where nobody was beyond murder, it was strange how that made her feel both almost guilty and a little miffed. Her term on death row was brief and she spent most of her time before being put in stasis in solitary confinement but she had had enough time to interact with other prisoners to know when somebody wanted to kill for the sake of killing, and the guy she shot had had that look.

Then again, the woman did reach for her hand, she did accept her help and, most surprisingly, she did not ask her to return the gun, at least not yet. And she seemed willing to have Christine come along on their merry way to god-knows-where.

"Fuckface, huh? I like your style!", the other one commented, drawing Christine's attention.
She looked younger, a lot younger than the other but something about her seemed vaguely familiar. What she had mistaken for being unnerved turned out to be a spark of mischief, a rebellious streak that spoke to her, intrigued her, struck the right note with her. Australian... Somewhere in the depth of her mind, in the area of her university years, she could hear the faint ring of a bell but it was all a little too vague and too much had happened since that overshadowed this time. Maybe she reminded her of herself?
Whatever it was, the Australian's expression was friendly, amused even.

"Yeah, well, I don't think he does", she nodded towards the corpse, a hint of humour in her voice.
But before this could develop into more than a short exchange, before they could disappear into the woods, before she could even think of anything else, a call for help had them grinding to a halt. The caller was a man, doubled over in pain... or was he? Everything inside her, every ounce of common sense advised against taking anything somebody seemed to be in a place like this at face value.
And yet the woman with the bruised cheekbone, the one who had just been floored by a random stranger, the very one that knew first-hand - literally - that anybody around here could be dangerous, ran up to him, looked at his wounds and called her companion over so she could treat him.

It was so very, very stupid and careless of her. And, at the same time, so very, very selfless and noble. Finding brutality in a place like this wasn't unexpected but this... it stunned Christine in a way none of the carnage inside could. Who is she?
As crazy as it was of her to do that, the red-head couldn't help but feel a bit of admiration for... We really need some 'Hi, my name is...' stickers.

And then, she heard a twig snap. She couldn't tell where it came from exactly, because the forest had been on her right, but she could tell that it was too close for comfort and the younger-looking blonde seemed to be one step ahead of her, her gun trained on a black woman coming into view. She wore the same overall as everybody else and she did something very smart, considering the guns: Her entire body language aimed to convey that she was not looking for a fight. Whether that was true or not was another question entirely - there was something in her look, in the way she carried herself. It reminded Christine of an animal that had been beaten one too many times and was ready to bite as soon as somebody posed a threat to it.

"You guys friendly?"

"Do we look friendly to you?", the rebellious one replied. It wasn't hostile but maybe not the right tone.

"Not always", Christine said. She was sure that the woman had seen the dead guy; she had come very close before giving herself away. "But I can be, if you don't do anything stupid like attack somebody." If you do, I will not hesitate. There was no need to speak it out. The corpse said it in a way words never could. "Keep your distance and we'll get along just fine."

And then, of course, another one joined them - a pale blonde guy who was the exact opposite of everybody and everything she had seen so far: He looked like a pedestrian that had just stumbled into a prison block.

Why the hell are so many people coming this wa-?
That was when it dawned on her. It was quite obvious, after all: The gunshot. Every normal person in every normal situation would get as far away from it as possible. But this wasn't a normal situation and these weren't normal people. A gun was a more comfortable, more refined way to kill and, compared to the number of pipes and sheet metal shards lying around, one that was in short supply on the Apox, unless somebody found an armory of sorts. It was stupid of her to shoot but she didn't think it all the way through. Who could have, in a situation like this?

"Umm... Could I... Could I be of any help?", he asked awkwardly.

"Maybe you can help her", she gestured towards the blonde and her patient. "You know, speed things up so we can get out of here."

Then she met the rebel's eyes again. The girl reminded her of her Gaia companions. Her best friends among them died in that convention center but they had all started out as people with a spark like that and, if she had to rely on somebody, based on nothing but a gut feeling, it would have to be her.

"I'll keep an eye on this side." This side meant the one towards the doctor, where her almost useless right ear was covered by a solid wall of plate metal and she had no blind spots. Other than the opposite direction, of course. "Take the other one, will ya?"
If she decided to turn around and shoot her from behind, there was nothing she could do. She had to rely an awful lot, considering she had only met her a few minutes ago. But if not even the people who seemed the least threatening and downright mad in this place were remotely trustworthy, she was probably done for anyway. Gambling was never her thing but sometimes, you didn't have a choice in the matter.

"Oh, and... The name's Christine, by the way." Everybody around could hear her name but she softened her voice for her next, considerably darker remark, not wanting to unsettle the black woman more than necessary. "Watching somebody blow somebody's brains out puts them on a first name basis, right?"

[Irisity]

"Do we look friendly to you?"

Georgia shrugged. She wanted to come closer, but the blonde next to the red woman seemed reckless and an ally of her's. "Do any of us look friendly?" She replied. Everyone she'd seen in here so far, corpses included, looked like fight dogs, bred and born to tear each other apart.

"Not always," the red woman said. "But I can be, if you don't do anything stupid like attack somebody."

Georgia grimaced slightly. She may have a shit IQ, but she still had common sense. "No ma'am. My momma taught me better than that." In truth, she did. When your head is in the lion's jaws, you pet it, her mother's words echoed in her head.

Suddenly their eyes shifted to someone behind her. "Umm... Could I... Could I be of any help?"

Georgia resisted immediately turning to see who stood behind her, but she new the red woman would squeeze that trigger before she even had time to blink. She slowly turned to look at the newcomer, an awkward looking boy-man who seemed too not criminal. More playing dungeons and dragons in his basement or talking lore about his favorite fantasy book in a book club. He wasn't a fight dog. He was a newborn puppy, it's eyes still shut. The thought normally would've made Georgia smile, but she didn't feel too obliged with a gun pointed at her.

The group beckoned the boy-man to help them. Georgia wanted to scuff at it, but the boy-man seemed sincere in his demeanor. The red and the rebel took positions to watch other their group's back, particularly keeping their eyes fixated on Georgia and the entrance. Shit. She hadn't thought about that. More might be coming soon. She turned her back away from the mouth of the Apox, turning her back to the forest but keeping her eyes on the entrance at the group. She glanced at the skyline. Still no reinforcements.

"Oh, and... The name's Christine, by the way," the red woman said. She murmured something softer to rebel.

The empty skyline set Georgia on edge, but she stayed put. "Look," she stated. "Helicopters and dogs and tanks are going to be coming for us soon if we don't get out of here. I don't know about you guys, but I don't want to go stumbling into these woods alone and afraid with dogs coming after me."

[Jb]

Slowly, too slowly for his liking, darkness and shadow gave way to more illuminated areas of the Apox - areas that would no doubt be occupied for that very reason by further threats. Hemi had already had to crack a few skulls (and femurs and necks and limbs...) to reach the corridor through which he now wove, squatting and leaping, swinging and stepping, his head as much on a swivel as was possible and his ears kept metaphorically as open as he could get them; from time-to-time he would mutter to himself in his native tongue, humming a well-known folk song even as he fractured the skull of a wounded inmate - the woman apparently convicted for murder of her own children - trapped beneath a fallen piece of debris, and with little to no chance of ever getting free.

"We must have fallen from orbit," he mused silently, only the sound of his own movement and gruff breathing interrupting his thoughts, "the entire station, hundreds of convicted criminals..." without realising it, his blood-stained mouth twisted into a sneering grin, "truly this is a battleground worthy of only the greatest!" Images of tattooed Maori warriors and kilted Highlanders began to flash through his mind, pictures and illustrations from his childhood books, barked instructions from his martial arts instructors joining them and giving him cause to remember the last MMA session he had ever had; it had been in a small club in Auckland, one of his bullies thinking himself the better man...until Hemi had nearly killed the older boy.

Booted feet moved swiftly over blood-slicked metal, one huge hand hefting a fallen piece of a supporting girder out of his path, muscles straining and his expression changing to one of annoyance - this was all taking too long! He wanted out, now!

Wait...there...a beam of light emanating from what could only be the outside world, an opening torn into the side of the fallen station and...was that people talking?! What idiots would be standing around this close to the station, having a nice conversation over a bloody cup of tea, waiting to die?

There was only one way to find out.

Gripping the steel piping a little tighter, yet keeping his arm relaxed and his body ready - like some big cat stalking its prey - he half-crouched and moved as close to the wall as he could. With steps as soft as one could get in a pair of prison boots, so not all that softly, he got as close to the entrance as he could and, with one long intake and expulsion of breath, strode boldly into the light of day.

The sight that greeted him almost sent him into fits of laughter, even as he nearly walked into the back of some bumbling blonde child, slipping to the so-called man's rear left, close to the exterior of the wreckage, and eyeing the group warily; from what he could tell there was around six of them, one certainly shot through the head - his blood and brain matter still leaking into the lush grass, something Hemi took in along with the trees, all of which reminded him of home - another man looking pained and being attended by a blonde woman, another woman looking quite uneasy in possession of a firearm but more than willing to use it.

There were others, but all-in-all it looked as if none of them really knew what the Hell they were doing...although he could see that the woman tending to the 'wounded' man most certainly knew her way around a medical kit.

"Helicopters and dogs and tanks are going to be coming for us soon if we don't get out of here. I don't know about you guys, but I don't want to go stumbling into these woods alone and afraid with dogs coming after me."

"What," he half-barked, announcing his presence to the group, if it was not already known, "the fuck are you talking about?" It was a question mostly directed at the woman who was apparently shitting herself at the prospect of unseen enemies, "this station fell out the fucking sky, crashed into wherever we are, an you think they'll come an get us soon?" He wiped a shoulder of his torn suit, gesturing with the pipe in his hand as he spoke, trying not to crack into a bout of mirth, "nah, they'd have been here already, if they're coming at all."

Taking a step nearer to the group, the weedy blonde to front right, the rest of the group before him, he looked to each of them before spitting a gobbet of phlegm from his crusted mouth, "the fuck is this anyway?! You all having a little barbeque here, a little picnic or somethin? Staff meeting perhaps?" Now he did laugh, the laugh of someone who was genuinely happy and thought the entire situation hilarious, "good thing you've got a gun though," his eyes took on a much more serious expression, even as his lips continued to smile, "if you stand about much longer, you're gonna fuckin' need it."

[Kingfisher]

“Fuck, you're one tough son of a bitch,” The bearded stranger observed with what seemed to be a blurred mixture of horror and admiration, a look he’d grown used to during his time as President. “Listen, I would hardly qualify as a doctor but I don't need a PhD to say that you're in rough shape. I-I can help you out of here, just agree not to do anything stupid. Okay?”

“Anything stupid…” Ristachev wheezed through a mouthful of hot blood “You mean like get stabbed in the face?” He forced a smirk, before coughing up a wad of worryingly dark fluid.

The Hangedman stumbled slightly, but his sheer determination and iron will triumphed over the pain that wracked his body. Agony was tearing through every fibre of his being in an tsunami of fire, but Ristachev would be damned to whatever hell awaited men such as he before letting a flesh wound stop him.

“I’m not known for accepting help from s-strangers,” he rasped “but it's that or b-bleed out.” Ristachev’s voice was shaky and unsure, and his harsh Russian accent was unmistakable, even amidst all the stammering and blood.

He just about managed a light shrug, the makeshift bandages around his wound soaked red “Give it your best shot.”

Ristachev paused, considering the situation for a moment. If he admitted weakness, even at a time such as this, he was signing his own death warrant. He had become President because he understood Russia, and the bloody nature of the East. He knew that to admit weakness was to invite chaos, and that was the principle upon which he had ruled. Was he a monster? Perhaps. But in the real world, monsters are the ones who’re left standing when the curtain falls.

“U-understand this; If you attempt anything disingenuous, my wounds will seem trivial next to those you’ll suffer.”

[Atrophy]

“Anything stupid...you mean like get stabbed in the face?”

Samuel dimly nodded, pretending as if it had just occurred to him that, yes, getting stabbed in the face was generally not considered an intelligent idea. Meanwhile, in the dim light, the gray haired man observed what he could from the former Russian President. Part of Sam’s mind felt like it was his duty as an American to finish the commie off. If this was a film, a hundred American flags would unfurl to the blaring of the Star Spangled Banner as eagles flew over between violent cuts of Samuel pounding the Hanged Man’s face into borscht. Thankfully, Sam had never been much of a patriot, and being shot into space kind of kills a person’s desire for jingoism.

Besides, people had already killed Ristachev once, and he just came back deadlier than ever. Sam knew it would be stupid to bet against the man’s chance of survival; now if only he could fully convince himself that leeching onto the war criminal would increase his. Regardless, Sam found the man fascinating. He couldn’t resist lending a hand, if only to use it as leverage later on.

“U-understand this; If you attempt anything disingenuous, my wounds will seem trivial next to those you’ll suffer.”

Good enough for Sam.

“Don’t even know what d-disinge-whatever means,” said Sam. “But I think I still follow anyway.”

Samuel took a second to peer his head out towards the stairwell. There were no echoing footsteps, although over the alarms that meant very little. Still, it seemed this was as clear as the coast would get. If the two were going to try and make it out of the wreckage, now would be the time to go.

“Okay, let’s go. I’ll help you walk,” said Sam, slinging Ristachev arm over his shoulder and readying himself to flip the injured man over just in case he tried to crush Sam’s windpipe. The list of the man’s crimes bore themselves into Sam’s eyes. He knew he wasn’t doing the right thing, helping out this man out; he just prayed it would be the smart thing. “It’s Sam, by the way.”

The two slowly made their way out of the corridor and onto the flight of stairs. The steps were more gnarled and twisted than Sam had remembered, although then again he had skipped over most of them by taking the expressway down. Keeping his tumble in mind, he kept a safe pace with Ristachev lest he wanted to end up serving as the President’s cushion. After what seemed like a grueling amount of time, the two men made it to the bottom of the staircase. It was there that he saw it at the end of a corridor; daylight, actual, real daylight. Sam wanted to make a run for it, but keeping his wounded comrade in mind he kept the pace a steady and cautious one.

Approaching the exit, Sam could finally hear the voices over the ringing in his ears. He pressed himself and Ristachev into the shadows. It was a mixture of accents, genders, even moods, as if the crashed prisoners had somehow formed their own UN right outside of the smoldering Apox. He heard a booming voice mention something about a barbeque, causing his stomach that hadn’t eaten real food in more than a century to gurgle with hunger. I would kill for some brisket right now, thought Sam, followed by the more chilling thought that somebody here had probably literally killed for food before. Fighting against his better senses, Sam slackened his grip on Ristachev to give him a chance to back off if he wanted to and stepped through the entrance. The warmth of the sun hit his face, his lungs filled with fresh air; if this just ended in him getting ventilated, at least he wasn’t dying in some fucking prison.

“"Good thing you've got a gun though, if you stand about much longer, you're gonna fuckin' need it."

“T-then please at least refrain from using it on us,” said Sam, his voice wavering ever so slightly under his nasally New York accent. He looked around; there were enough people here that if somebody tried anything funny it would almost spell out certain retaliation. About as safe as he could be surrounded by murderers, terrorists, and politicians. “As far as I’m aware, I’ve been alive for all of my life and I’m too old now to do anything different.”

[Heat]

Joseph smiled as the woman helped him, she was a pretty one, almost even better she had medical training. He took his eyes off of her and took in his surroundings. They were green, he hasn't seen anything green in so long, he was more and more sure that he wasn't hallucinating as the pain in his arm felt too real, as did the sights and scents around him. The wreckage of the Apox, it must have looked amazing from a better vantage point.

He winced as the woman went to work on his injury. Joseph's fist clenched in response to the pain as she applied pressure to the wound. The talk of stitches almost made him groan, that wasn't something he wanted to go through. As he looked back up at her he noticed that her eyes were fixed on the letters which were his convicted crimes. It wouldn't be an easy task for him to talk about, but he was confident as always that he would be able to make the murders he committed sound less bad then they actually seemed.

It seemed the bandaging of his injury had caused others to gather as he noticed more of his fellow prisoners emerge out of the wreckage. His eyes were upon the first strange woman to appear, then the gun that rose at her appearance. That was a good thing to have, protection, but also a huge risk depending on how mentally together the others in the small group were. Joe had it together, though he hated guns, so loud, so easy to miss with one, so many ways they could malfunction.

His eyes scanned the others that had gathered, the only thought in his head about them were what their crimes may have been that had landed them on Apox. They had to have been something terrible, worse than his own even, though his weren't bad to him. He wouldn't be able to trust any of them, well yet. Maybe later on if they showed they were worth enough to him. A group did have its advantages, especially in their situation. Joseph knew nothing about surviving in the wilderness, which seemed be where they were at the moment, maybe the other criminals did.

"We should get moving. Even if there aren't any after us who are authorities, there may be other criminals, maybe like the man that attacked one of us earlier," Joseph said, pulled himself up to stand carefully, then looked at Elmina. "Thank you for patching me up, you're far too kind to help someone like me so quickly in such a crazy situation."

"I'm Joe, by the way." He added.