James Justice
Charting new Paths
Screams. Blood. Mob. Freedom.
The roars of death, the love of them, the desire to break free was a maddeningly strong. They were convicts of the worst kind; sociopaths, psychopaths, madmen, lunatics who had nothing left to loose in this mad break for freedom. Surging ahead like a wave, they tore through the halls, screaming and roaring. Guards who put up a fight were ravaged. Destroyed without mercy.
But there was a sole prisoner. He cause the whole ordeal. He had spent the past three months rotting in his cell, planning, preparing, working for this. And now it was here. He ran the opposite way. His orange jumpsuit caught bits of stray light as he sprinted down the narrow halls. These ran along cell blocks, dozens of dozens of empty cells lined either side. Faster. Faster, he knew where he had to go and what he had to do and he didn't have much time. His dark brown eyes flickered with stray purple energy as the dark side threatened to corrupt him fully.
He had used it to get this far, to stay sane, to be able to one day make it back home to her, he struggled now, at last to keep it at bay.
Rounding the corner, he came face to face with a guard, clad in full riot armor. The two were on a catwalk; to the right as an endless fall into what was called the Pit of the Dead. A name well earned. The guard hesitated a moment, giving the convict enough time to react. His fist balled and rammed into its opponent's chest, made stronger by the power of the force. The satisfying feeling of cracking ribs under the blow filled the convicts ears. The guard stumbled back, rearing his stunbaton, but the convict readied himself. As the blow came down with stumbling steps, he sidestepped it, grabbing the wrist and forearm he twisted the momentum, sending his opponent falling head first into the Pit.
The convict nodded and continued to run. His lungs threatened to burst as he pushed himself farther. He was weak from lack of food and maltreatment but he could make this. He had to make this. The sound of more guards coming behind him filled his ears. The convict reached a latter leading downward. There was no time to waste. He leaped down, falling one, two, three stories. His messy brown hair caught bits of the wind until he landed hard on the third level of catwalks along the pit. His legs screamed in agony as the man collapsed.
"This way, we almost have him!"
The convict had bought himself precious time, he rose and stumbled ahead, twenty feet to a small closet-sized alcove terminal at the end of the catwalk. There it was, what he had worked so hard for, what he had waited for so long and tried so hard to get to. A computer terminal. Access to the outside world. He didn't have much time.
His fingers began to work; opening a quick HoloNet message. They keyboard came up. He could hear the guards getting closer, climbing down the ladders. He licked his lips, the sweat beading on his face getting worse. The tension was high. He could feel his hands shaking even more. Finally, send, it was done.
The first blow crumpled him to the ground in a heap of pain--then they were raining down on him in an endless flurry. Blow after blow pelted the defenseless convict as the rage-filled guards beat him. A few layers above, the prison break was put down by a breached airlock. The bodies of the beings floated through space, frozen and lifeless.
There was no known reason for sure why James Justice had insisted on the dead, unused computer be set in the middle of the office headquaters. Perhaps it was just a fad, or a memorial to the days long gone. Perhaps it was a drunken trick, or one of his many things he did just to make people think. But that day they would find it humming, working, and alive. Scrawled across its cracked and archaic glass screen were these words:
///Transmission received. open: y/n
Transmission: terminal 4576.85d
//Protocol 43a initiated
Protocol 43a terminated//
Message as follows: Help. Dying. Track the Angel. Rescue me. -JJ
End transmission.///
[member="Stardust"] [member="Gray Raxis"] [member="Anara Valnor"]
The roars of death, the love of them, the desire to break free was a maddeningly strong. They were convicts of the worst kind; sociopaths, psychopaths, madmen, lunatics who had nothing left to loose in this mad break for freedom. Surging ahead like a wave, they tore through the halls, screaming and roaring. Guards who put up a fight were ravaged. Destroyed without mercy.
But there was a sole prisoner. He cause the whole ordeal. He had spent the past three months rotting in his cell, planning, preparing, working for this. And now it was here. He ran the opposite way. His orange jumpsuit caught bits of stray light as he sprinted down the narrow halls. These ran along cell blocks, dozens of dozens of empty cells lined either side. Faster. Faster, he knew where he had to go and what he had to do and he didn't have much time. His dark brown eyes flickered with stray purple energy as the dark side threatened to corrupt him fully.
He had used it to get this far, to stay sane, to be able to one day make it back home to her, he struggled now, at last to keep it at bay.
Rounding the corner, he came face to face with a guard, clad in full riot armor. The two were on a catwalk; to the right as an endless fall into what was called the Pit of the Dead. A name well earned. The guard hesitated a moment, giving the convict enough time to react. His fist balled and rammed into its opponent's chest, made stronger by the power of the force. The satisfying feeling of cracking ribs under the blow filled the convicts ears. The guard stumbled back, rearing his stunbaton, but the convict readied himself. As the blow came down with stumbling steps, he sidestepped it, grabbing the wrist and forearm he twisted the momentum, sending his opponent falling head first into the Pit.
The convict nodded and continued to run. His lungs threatened to burst as he pushed himself farther. He was weak from lack of food and maltreatment but he could make this. He had to make this. The sound of more guards coming behind him filled his ears. The convict reached a latter leading downward. There was no time to waste. He leaped down, falling one, two, three stories. His messy brown hair caught bits of the wind until he landed hard on the third level of catwalks along the pit. His legs screamed in agony as the man collapsed.
"This way, we almost have him!"
The convict had bought himself precious time, he rose and stumbled ahead, twenty feet to a small closet-sized alcove terminal at the end of the catwalk. There it was, what he had worked so hard for, what he had waited for so long and tried so hard to get to. A computer terminal. Access to the outside world. He didn't have much time.
His fingers began to work; opening a quick HoloNet message. They keyboard came up. He could hear the guards getting closer, climbing down the ladders. He licked his lips, the sweat beading on his face getting worse. The tension was high. He could feel his hands shaking even more. Finally, send, it was done.
The first blow crumpled him to the ground in a heap of pain--then they were raining down on him in an endless flurry. Blow after blow pelted the defenseless convict as the rage-filled guards beat him. A few layers above, the prison break was put down by a breached airlock. The bodies of the beings floated through space, frozen and lifeless.
Soceras
At the headquarters of Justice Shipping, the Angel's Den on Soceras, almost half a galaxy away, a message came buzzing through. The office was empty, but the first one to come in would find a strange site.There was no known reason for sure why James Justice had insisted on the dead, unused computer be set in the middle of the office headquaters. Perhaps it was just a fad, or a memorial to the days long gone. Perhaps it was a drunken trick, or one of his many things he did just to make people think. But that day they would find it humming, working, and alive. Scrawled across its cracked and archaic glass screen were these words:
///Transmission received. open: y/n
Transmission: terminal 4576.85d
//Protocol 43a initiated
Protocol 43a terminated//
Message as follows: Help. Dying. Track the Angel. Rescue me. -JJ
End transmission.///
[member="Stardust"] [member="Gray Raxis"] [member="Anara Valnor"]
