It had been a week since he'd been incarcerated in Piltover's maximum security prison. Though he wasn't constantly in chains like his experience during his torturous stint in Priggs' corporate prison the security was much tighter and so far during his day to day Graves had yet to find anything he could take advantage of to attempt an escape. The prison schedule gave the inmates a certain amount of freedom while keeping them on a short leash as to keep 'incidents' against the guards and other inmates alike to a minimum though it was far from preventative. Graves had already noted the exact times everything seemed to occur. He had the routine's worked down to a science detailing what happened when and what times certain events overlapped to try and plan the best time to attempt an escape.
06:30 Wake-up 06:30–06:45 Morning exercises, personal hygiene and making the beds 06:30–07:15 Leisure time for prisoners of cell block A - others work or still in cells 06:30–07:15 Telephone calls allowed 07:15–07:45 Breakfast (food is served in cells) 07:45–08:00 Leisure time for prisoners of cell block B - others work or still in cells 07:45–08:00 Telephone calls allowed 08:00–08:30 Morning roll-call (roll-call takes place in cells) 08:30–19:00 Walks by prison wards 08:30–12:30 Leisure time for prisoners of cell block C - others work or still in cells 12:30–13:00 Lunch (food is served in cells) 13:00–17:00 Leisure time for prisoners of cell block D - others work or still in cells 14:00–17:00 Telephone calls allowed 16:20–16:30 Escorting new prisoners from in-processing to proper wards 16:30–16:45 Escorting prisoners from prison ward to out-processing for release or transfers 17:00–17:30 Supper (food is served in cells) 17:30–20:00 Leisure time for prisoners of cell block F (or Ferguson) - others work or still in cells 17:30–20:00 Telephone calls 20:00–20:30 Evening roll-call (roll-call takes place in cells) 20:30–06:30 Time of retiring.
He was in cell block F, also known as 'Ferguson' to the guards of the prison. As far as he could tell the cell blocks segregated prisoners according to their crimes and the dangerous potential they presented to others around them. The Ferguson cell block had the reputation of housing the most brutal and dangerous criminals, among the inmates it was also nicknamed the 'gladiator arena' from the brutal and gory fights that broke out more frequently in the cell block than others.
While he had a few ideas none were solid enough to attempt. A week in and Graves was only sure of one thing - this wasn't going to be easy at all and he'd probably be spending far much more time behind bars than he would like. Even if he figured a way to escape the prison he still had no idea where they had taken his gun. Like hell he'd let these pigs keep his Destiny wherever they had it stowed away! Then of course he'd need his arm back as well. It was frustrating. There was so many more things he had to plan and figure out while surviving the regular prison chaos between the gangs and other insane inmates, but it was nothing he hadn't already been through or was unprepared for.
Like the first day he'd found himself in here all he could do was wait patiently and plan, so that's what he would continue to do. Patience was the key here and it was something he had learned to have the hard way in his life.
Last Edit: Dec 9, 2013 17:43:15 GMT -5 by The Outlaw
Post by Elly Wheeler on Dec 7, 2013 21:33:07 GMT -5
9th July, 23 CLE
Howls and cat calls followed and preceded the two lone figures walking through the cell block. The one leading was dressed in an officer’s uniform but the small female following him was dressed in common clothing. Jacket zipped all the way up, everything she wore was a drab shade of grey, in fact the only color to be seen anywhere was the auburn curls on her head.
For being so small she seemed oddly calm amidst all the chaos. “Thanks for coming in m’am.” The man in the officers’ uniform said, speaking loudly over his shoulder to the woman following behind him. “Sure thing.“ The woman replied.
Elly paused in front of a cell, her toes just barely touching the red safety line. “Hey you! Yeah I’m talking to you buddy.” The men in the cage looked at each other and came to the bars to look at her. It only took a moment before she shook her head. “Never mind boys. Thanks anyway.”
Quickly ushered through the hallway of cells on the block, the noise faded as the officer shut the doors behind them. The heat of midday beat down on her back when they got outside. “We only have one more to go m’am. Do you think you can handle it?” The officer asked as he escorted her through the empty yard. Elly chuckled. “Pardon my saying so sir, but if ya gave me a keg and got rid of the bars, i'd practically feel right at home.”
The smile she wore faded along with any trace of sunshine or warmth when they walked into the maximum security building. Being in the minimum security wing hadn’t been so bad, but here… Well this place really did feel like a death sentence, it hung in the air and put her on edge.
There was no help for it though, not if she wanted to try and atone for not doing right by Sanda. It would have helped more if I had talked her out of leaving the bar with that bastard in the first place, Elly thought, still beating herself up for letting the murdered girl leave with the drifter that night. The barkeep had known that the man meant trouble; her gut instinct had warned her from the moment he walked in the door. I should have made her stay, I should have forced her into staying.
Elly pushed those thoughts out of her mind and listened carefully to the safety instructions she was given. Then, with her resolve steeled by guilt, she nodded to the officer and followed him inside.
Last Edit: Dec 9, 2013 22:57:55 GMT -5 by Elly Wheeler
At the end of a hallway in the maximum security building there was a door guarded by two heavily armed officers. Upon Elly and her escort's approach they both saluted, with one of them taking a step forward before speaking to her in a commanding and curt tone.
"I understand you've been granted permission by the warden to enter cell block F. I remind you that we have rules that you must abide by while in the facility and a few that are exclusive to cell block F or 'Ferguson' as we like to call it, no exceptions. Understand?
1. Tour Agreement and Civil Claims Release Form – Remember that you signed this prior to entering the facility. This agreement states that you were made aware of a background check being conducted to verify any prior criminal history as well that we are not entirely responsible for any harm that may come to you if an 'incident' were to occur if any of these following rules were violated 2. Search of person and Property – all persons entering this part of the facility are subject to a search of their person and property brought along 3. If you are an expectant mother or think you may be pregnant, you will not be allowed into the facility 4. NO audio and/or video devices are permitted to be used anywhere at anytime in the facility 5. NO alcoholic beverages or drugs of any sort are allowed on the premises or in the facility 6. NO backpacks, handbags or purses of any sort are allowed into the facility 7. DO NOT wear any of the following clothing/attire: Tank tops, tee shirts with derogatory slogans, sandals, hats, gang related clothing or excessively revealing clothing. Women should stray away from: tight revealing clothing, necklaces or any form of jewelry. ALL tattoos must and will be covered 8. NO talking while going through cell block F unless your guide has asked for questions 9. Do NOT stray away from your guide at ANY given time - this goes double for cell block F 10. Do NOT taunt or toy with any of the inmates in cell block F
Every inmate in this facility, especially those in 'Ferguson' block, is extremely dangerous and we have these rules in place to help us keep you safe m'am. I suggest that you get through here as quickly as possible and refrain from asking any questions until after you have left this part of the facility...TWO COMING IN!"
The words were reiterated by another guard behind one way glass in a hidden room over a loud speaker. A moment after a loud buzzing sound was heard before the door that led directly to 'Ferguson' block opened for Elly to enter as the two guards stepped aside and ushered her and her escort in. The cell block had 3 levels that were each wall to wall with solitary confinement cells filled with some of Piltover's most notorious and dangerous criminals and psychopaths. The security was far from lacking, with officers patrolling each level routinely in shifts and additional officers guarding each stairwell leading to and from the different levels of the cell block. The officers were equipped heavily to quell the violent riots and fights that broke out between inmates in the cell block when the prisoners were transferred to and from cells. In fact at the end of one hallway a small bio-hazard team was still cleaning up the blood from the most recent 'incident' between two inmates which had ended with one in the infirmary and the other leaving for good in a body bag.
Even when the prisoners were all in their cells even the guards on duty were on edge and counted every second praying that nothing would happen on their watch until the end of their shift in the most god forsaken area of the prison. The atmosphere here was hostile and tense, like a spring loaded trap, the smallest disturbance here could be the catalyst for a riot against the guards or another fight among the inmates themselves. While there was still noise and leering from the prisoners of this cell block towards Elly it had a completely animalistic nature to it. There was no mercy, no compassion, no emotion in the eyes of the inmates, just instinct and some would even violently attempt to get a hold of her through the bars when she would pass.
In his cell Malcolm Graves sat unmoving on his cot scowling at the floor like it had just cheated him in a hand of poker. Like the rest of the prison populace in cell block F he had heard the announcement and the the buzz signifying two people entering. The simple yet elusive question he had was who could it possibly be? The warden? Caitlyn? No, neither of them would have any reason to come here and if anyone wanted to interrogate an inmate from anywhere in the prison they would be taken from their cell to a room for it to be done. In the end it didn't truly matter to him, he still had only one thing important on his mind and that was escape.
Last Edit: Dec 8, 2013 1:52:03 GMT -5 by The Outlaw
Post by Elly Wheeler on Dec 8, 2013 4:22:24 GMT -5
Stay inside the red lines. Breathe. Stay inside the red lines. Breathe again. She repeated these words to herself, inhaling the vile smell of sweat and piss as she stared straight ahead. They passed the first set of cells and then suddenly, amidst the chaos her presence had caused she stopped dead in her tracks.
Ellysia Abigail Wheeler! Just what in the name of creation are you doing?! You can’t ID anybody if you don’t look at em! Now get your head up, put your shoulders back and grow a pair already! The voice of her mentor rang clear as day in her head. Any other time it would have made her smile.
“M’am?” The officer moved in closer. “We need to move M’am” Elly slowly looked up from the floor to meet the eyes of the officer.
Refrain from asking questions; that is what the rules had said. Elly gave the officer a pointed look and then without a word, turned on her heel and walked back to look at the men she had passed up, staring em dead in the eyes, first the one on the left side cell then the one on the right. Her stare was bold, almost antagonistic but to appear weak, would be far worse.
With this in mind, Elly did not fidget or glance away. Like a woman with nothing to fear and even less to lose, she forced herself to walk slowly down the aisles and stare at each and every human being in those cells till she was sure it wasn’t the drifter. She moved stiffly, as if being in rigor mortis would keep her from flinching. Unfortunately, it did not.
Wide eyed and mad as a loon, one man threw himself bodily against the bars when she came into view, howling like a beast in rutting season. It happened so fast that she instinctively moved backward, her foot crossing the red line just enough to let the monster in the cell behind her reach out and grab a fistful of her hair.
“Son of a…” She cursed, twisting and pulling, trying desperately to wrench herself from his grasp. Like a rabbit caught in a trap will gnaw its foot off to get out, she yanked her head violently in the other direction, the madman’s grip so strong that in doing so, it tore out a decent chunk of her hair. She turned around, holding her head as officers rushed in, their presence and her adrenaline fueling her bravery. The demon man inside the cell brought the fistful of curls up, and then to her disgust started tonguing them, slurping them up like noodles.
The officer escorting her put one hand on her shoulder. He seemed intent on escorting her back out but there were only a few more cells to check. She grabbed his hand in a vice like grip and pushed it away, her only other response…“No”
The block was on fire now, the already loud screams becoming even louder, till her ears thrummed from it, each low growl; echoing like the pounding of a drum and each high pitched screech; a wailing wild thing. Adrenaline still coursing through her veins she continued walking and searching till she reached the last man in the block. Only this one was different.
A scruffy looking man, he sat quietly with his head down, eyes on the ground. He alone made no attempt to move at her. What in blazes could he have done to deserve this nightmare? She wondered as she watched him.
“Look at me.” She finally ordered, needing to see his face to be sure. Elly tried to make her voice as commanding as any officer of the law rather than ask a question.
The ward was in an uproar of raving, ranting, and jeering from the inmates in a crescendo that seemed to have no end. Whoever had entered the block was certainly doing something to cause this much chaos and at this rate the guards would probably cancel leisure time for the entire cell block to avoid riots and fighting from the 'Ferguson' block inmates. After getting so worked up it'd be completely impossible for the guards to maintain any sense of control over anyone if the inmates were let out of their cells. It wouldn't change much anyway. Jail was jail, but being cramped up in his small cell up to almost 23 hours of the day wasn't something Graves would be looking forward to. Without looking up he noticed two shadows on the floor coming in through the bars, telling him the cell block's 'guests' had finally made their way to his cell.
"Look at me"
"If you get to thinkin' yer' a person of some influence here, try orderin' some o' these other dogs around" Graves replied gruffly after giving Elly a brief glance before leaning forward and resting his only remaining arm against his leg making no other movement. Who the hell did this woman think she was to make demands of him? It didn't matter, he wasn't going to roll over and do parlor tricks like a pet for anyone here. Not the inmates, not the guards, and certainly not some random woman who had no real authority here to begin with judging by her appearance. The pause in Elly's progression through the cell block caught the attention of one guard patrolling the level and he made his way over and whacked the bars on Graves' cell with his baton before barking at him in the most authoritative tone he could muster. The guard's mask of bravado was revealed to be painfully false when he scurried away after a simple glare from Graves that would give Elly an unintentionally good look at his face.
Last Edit: Dec 8, 2013 15:32:58 GMT -5 by The Outlaw
Post by Elly Wheeler on Dec 8, 2013 16:05:43 GMT -5
"If you get to thinkin' yer' a person of some influence here, try orderin' some o' these other dogs around"
The man had a good point.
Elly knew she had no business making demands of anybody in a place like this but her options were pretty limited.
A passing guard tried to reinforce her wishes with his baton as though beating the cage was some sort of warning of a beating to come. Well that's a bit much, she thought to herself. Where was Sergeant Overkill when she was getting attacked a few moments ago?
With a frown she took a few careful steps to one side, hoping to catch a peek of the prisoners face. His dialect wasn't like the drifters but that sort of thing could be faked. Elly had to be sure. The man in the cell flashed Overkill a glare that could peel the hair off a dog and that is when she noticed it.
Even through the prison scruff, that scowl was unmistakable. “Well who would have thought…” Elly whispered, completely in awe as she stared openly at the man. Of course she could have been wrong but this guy bore a striking resemblance to a champion of the league.
The officer escorting her made a motion with his hand as if to get her moving along but barkeep was far too enthralled to notice. “My word… it really is you." she said, crouching down to be on his level. She was still behind the line but her escort took a determined step toward them. Elly shooed him away with a wave of her hand. "Not that you Officer. I think I'd remember it if this one came walking into my bar." She said dismissively before turning back to the man in the cell.
"What in blazes were they thinking putting ya in a place like this?” She asked Graves, her brows pulling together in obvious confusion. The barkeep completely oblivious to the fact that she had just broken the rules and asked a question.
Last Edit: Dec 9, 2013 23:00:58 GMT -5 by Elly Wheeler
Graves scoffed as the one guard retreated with his tail between his legs. It was about the closest thing he could get to entertainment in here, but it was still far from getting old. To make a fully grown man trained and equipped specifically to control dangerous inmates to cower from a simple glare from him. Still it was almost enough to make Graves burst out laughing. His reputation certainly preceded him here, that was for sure and it worked out wonderfully for him in the long run as he was nearly allowed to do as he pleased so long as he didn't stir up any trouble himself. It gave him plenty of time and opportunity to plan his eventual escape. He leaned back in his cot, not paying any attention to the woman now crouching at the bars of his cell muttering while her escort fruitlessly attempting to get her to leave with him. 'This ain't the damn zoo lady. If yer' fixin' on askin' me somethin' quit starin' n' spit it out' he thought dully to himself.
"What in blazes were they thinking putting ya in a place like this?”
"Sheriff's off her damn mental reservation." he told Elly plainly. But the question did resound throughout his mind. Why DID they throw him in here? If they had the slightest clue as to whom he was, they should know he more than had the ability to break out of here. It was only a matter of time. No prison could hold Malcolm Graves, it was a well known fact. Was it because of what he had done? He had not intentionally harmed the civvies in the buildings he had destroyed in the first place. They were just collateral damage in his pursuit of Fate and to a lesser extent Vi - at the wrong place at the wrong time. Did he feel remorse for it? No, of course not! It wasn't as if he intentionally went around blowing innocent people away like it was his job. In fact had he not gone out of his way attempting to help the Sheriff catch an escaping Vi he wouldn't have run into Fate and gone into a frenzy in the first place.
Shows where trying to be the 'good guy' would get him. It was all one big load of horse shit. Surely the few innocents that had died in the collapse of the buildings from his explosive shot shouldn't have been enough for Cait to hunt him down, shoot him, and throw him in this pisshole. There was definitely something wrong with her now, not that the Outlaw would give it a second thought to blow her away if she tried to stop him during his escape.
He broke away from his thoughts to still see the woman crouched at the bars of his cell and he couldn't help but give her a confused look. She wasn't scared of him from what he could tell, actually from his point of view it almost like she was in awe of him which Graves couldn't exactly figure out. It left him unsure how to handle the situation, especially since the loud chaos of the other inmates still hadn't toned down at all. So he asked her a simple question. "You want somethin' from me?"
Last Edit: Dec 8, 2013 20:50:12 GMT -5 by The Outlaw
Post by Elly Wheeler on Dec 8, 2013 23:06:43 GMT -5
Still frowning to herself, she shook her head to his question. “No, I just…”
Elly didn’t have it in her to finish the sentence, the horror of the situation muting her as surely as a knife to the throat. The whole thing was just wrong somehow. Graves was a sane man, a champion. Why would anyone stuff him into the middle of all this? It had to be some kind of torture to be the calm eye of sanity in the middle of this storm of batshit crazy.
With another shake of her head, she stood and yielded to the urgings of the officer. She wanted to tell Graves to stay strong. She wanted to ask if he needed a legal representative or if there was someone he wanted her to contact on the outside on his behalf, someone who should know about this situation.
More than anything she wanted to help but really, what could she possibly do for him? This was a champion, someone capable of greatness beyond the norm and she was just plain old Elly. Still, it was a tragic thing to see the Outlaw caged up like this. It seemed as if the whole world was made just a little less amazing by the loss.
The officer put a hand on her shoulder and firmly started leading Elly away from the chaos. She had only walked a few paces before she called back toward Graves. “I just wanted to tell you that… She raised her voice till it was loud enough for him to hear her of the din of other inmates, "...that I’m sorry you're stuck in here. Ill come back to help if I can.”
Elly had no idea if he responded, she hardly had enough time to finish the sentence before she was ushered out through the safety doors and back out into the world.
Last Edit: Dec 9, 2013 1:36:48 GMT -5 by Elly Wheeler
The day had ground its way along the usual routine despite the events just the other day. A few months in now and it was beginning to become mundane: wake up, roll call, eat, work, back to the cell, eat, leisure, back to the cell again, roll call then lights out. With the exception of the sporadic outbursts and brawls between inmates that were normally quelled it had gone on like this for months. At least that was until the other day when she had showed up. That woman had who had been escorted throughout the block had nearly turned the place inside out just with her presence and Graves was beginning to wonder if the place that held him captive wasn't actually an insane asylum of some sort for the mentally ill.
That aside he still hadn't figured out himself why. Why was she there? To identify someone? Maybe, though it didn't seem her "tour" through the cell blocks had accomplished anything. Was she actually looking for him? After all she did seem to know who he was, though he had no idea who she could've been. He could still vividly remember seeing her crouched at the bars of his cell, murmuring to herself.
The officer put a hand on her shoulder and firmly started leading Elly away from the chaos. She had only walked a few paces before she called back toward Graves. “I just wanted to tell you that…" She raised her voice till it was loud enough for him to hear her of the din of other inmates, "...that I’m sorry you're stuck in here. Ill come back to help if I can.”
Like a professional sports team watching game film, the scene was replayed in his mind over and over again. Had he heard her clearly? She was going to help him? He didn't know anyone in his entire life that had "helped" him without clearly having something greater to gain from their "good Samaritan" like deeds. Life was give and take, you scratch my back I'll scratch yours. So what was her angle? He couldn't figure it out and that's what was bothering the Outlaw. Did she even have the power to help him? The last thing he needed was false hope and reliance on someone he had no knowledge about. All these damned questions with no answers!
He sat in the courtyard as his thoughts roamed and he kept trying to figure the most reliable way to go about escaping. A riot would do it, but it would never work. Observing the rest of the inmates segregate themselves according to their "gangs" and "territories" like it meant something - it was pitiful. They were all a bunch of fools in his eyes, none of them understood that their petty rivalries and power struggles meant less than shit behind these bars. The only real enemy of the inmates was the prison itself, the walls that kept them from freedom, the guards that cracked the whips to keep them "in line" and unless he could get them all to realize this a coordinated enough riot he could use as a distraction to escape would be impossible. It was then that a voice broke Graves away from his thoughts. It came from a ridiculously loudmouthed man, covered in tattoos who was flanked by two cronies, both much bigger than what appeared to be their "leader". Judging by the way the cronies looked he decided to name them to amuse himself. He decided to call one of them 'Bubba' based on his slack jaw and apparent lack of intelligence and the other 'Gumby' for his distinct lack of teeth that showed in his twisted smile.
"Get up fuck face. Hey, I'm talking to you! Yea, that's right 'Mr. Champion'. I seen you in here since you was a new boot and you piss me the fuck off walking around like you're better than the rest of us when you're just a washed up has been motherfucker! 'Big bad' Malcolm Graves gets locked up with the rest of us fuckers! Hah! What a joke!" 'Bigmouth', the leader of the trio of inmates spat at him as he continued his rant and bold approach blabbering on about doing them both a favor by killing the Outlaw. When he was only a foot away Graves noticed him attempt to stealthily draw what was probably a prison made shank from his sleeve before he slashed at him.
Graves immediately reacted with a punch to the Bigmouth's face that connected so forcefully it took the man off his feet. His jawbone could be heard snapping to pieces as he was laid out nonchalantly by the former Champion. Bubba and Gumby stood there stunned for a moment before they took to action. Bubba punched Graves square in the face before putting him in an awkward half nelson (since Graves had only one arm) while Gumby took advantage of it and began pummeling Graves. It hurt, but he'd been through much worse. He was a man of true grit, probably was one of the toughest sons of bitches that ever donned the title 'Champion of the League'. Didn't these clowns get it? Even if he wasn't part of the League anymore, compared to attacks and pain he'd experienced first hand from other champions on the Fields (all of whom were much stronger and far more skilled than these ego-inflated muscle heads) it was like being assaulted with pillows. If that was all they had then Graves would make his move now.
He kicked Gumby right in the chest to force him back and slammed the back of his head into Bubba's face, forcing him to release his hold to nurse his now broken nose. Graves whipped around and clocked Bubba in the back of his head knocking him out cold. However, before Graves caught his breath and turned back towards the only remaining assailant he was tackled to the ground and before he knew it he was rolling around trading punches to the face and throat with Gumby before he kicked the man off him into a wall so forcefully it split open the back of his head against the concrete. He immediately got to his feet and curb stomped Gumby to finish him off and stood ready for any other inmates that might have jumped in on the action. To his surprise the crowd that had gathered gave him a wide berth.
"Looks like it's better to been a 'has-been' than a 'never-was'..." Graves taunted, spitting blood at the now motionless bodies of the inmates that had assaulted him. He figured this would've happened sooner, but now for sure he had enemies among the inmates. It wouldn't make a difference, he'd beat them down as they came and make them respect him, he only needed one arm for these clowns anyway if others were stupid enough to try anything on him after this display. Two guards stormed over to "end" the brawl that Graves had already finished. The three inmates he'd fought were taken to the infirmary to treat their wounds before being brought back to their cells while he was dragged solitary confinement immediately and was to stay there for the following three weeks. He'd receive minimal nourishment, no visitors, no phone calls or even personal items from his cell as punishment for fighting while there. It was how the prison handled troublesome inmates as a mechanism for behavior modification. All it truly did was fuel Graves' resolve to escape even more if such a thing were even possible.
Last Edit: Dec 27, 2013 2:59:38 GMT -5 by The Outlaw
July, 30thCLE Three weeks...it had never occurred how long that could be. The "behavioral management" methods they used had made his time in solitary feel as if it spanned over the course of several months. It had been nothing but hunger, darkness and a putrid small that lingered throughout the solitary wing. The only glimpse of light he received daily was from a small slot in the iron door opening once a day to give him water and slices of bread to keep him from completely starving to death. It was disgustingly similar to his time in Priggs' bastille, though nowhere near as bad. Still, before long the darkness and hunger made him stir crazy and he had trouble sleeping from night terrors and flashbacks of that hellhole that surfaced once again in the familiar surroundings. He would thrash about during his hallucinations violently, convinced he was reliving his past.
Everyday hopelessly and helplessly struggling in his chains in the darkness trying to possibly find a way out. Those efforts were fruitless and only exasperated the injuries from the unscrupulous beatings he routinely received from the twisted guards while that sack of shit Priggs watched, deviously grinning at the now powerless form of Malcom Graves before him. The fat glutton of a man mocked the Outlaw, spit on him and even participated in flogging him if Graves showed any sign of defiance. Hell couldn't be much worse than this, being brought to something lower than human on a daily basis by spineless weaklings and cowards while you slowly rotted away into nothing from the lack of food and water...
No! This wasn't Priggs' prison, and he'd be damned before he let himself give in. They were trying to break him here, just like back then - force his hand and make him bend unto their will, but he would break for no man. He would play their game and endure everything thrown at him. Waiting patiently, just like last time for his chance to slip away. Soon, very soon his chance would come. He could feel it in his gut that he would be a free man once more.
Later that morning the iron curtain of a door that had sealed him in his new cell had opened for the first time since it had closed, flooding the small dark room with blinding light turning the guards under orders to bring him back to his regular cell into ominous shadows. Like silhouettes of men void of emotion and feeling they carried out their orders tossing the Outlaw back into his "quarters" before locking him behind bars once again.
Last Edit: Jan 7, 2014 16:58:16 GMT -5 by The Outlaw
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