The start of a trail

[Raziel]

Republic World.
High Security Prison.


“Look, just calm down. We're contacting the Warden now and we'll discuss your demands.” The prison officer stood calmly outside the cell, arms across her chest. One of the inmates walked up to the door and pressed his face against the plastiglass and grinned at her manically.
“I don't want to wait for the fething Warden. I want my fething holovids back!” The prisoner snarled each word from behind clenched teeth. He twisted his head and pushed one eye against the windows, attempting to peer out into the corridor beyond.
“I'm very sorry, but I can't do anything yet. You wanted to speak to the Warden so he's going to come down here,”
The face pressed against the window scrunched up as the prisoner considered this. He turned away from the glass for a moment. “Kick him again,” he muttered. Muffled thuds and a whimper followed.
“I'm telling you now,” the prisoner spat, looking back to the guard, “I will do unpleasant things to him unless you get me my holovids.”
“Look . . .”
“No, get me my fething vids and cigs back or you can sit there and watch me do things to this little kark.”
“Ok, ok, calm down. I'll go and talk to the Warden myself. Just don't do anything stupid, you don't want to add on any more time to you sentence do you?”

She walked just a few metres down the corridor to a group of guards standing out of view of the prisoners inside the cell. The halls of the high security prison were eerily quiet for this time of day; the other inmates had been confined to their cells as soon as the hostage situation had begun.
“What's the deal?” asked a guard nonchalantly as she approached them. He was clad in heavy body armour, the black rubber plates starkly contrasting with the white fabric uniform of the female officer.
“It's Strell again. They've barred the cell door from the inside and he's demanding his privileges back,” she replied.
“They were taken away after he broke Marie's nose last week?”
“Correct. He's got Hake to help him this time around. The hostage is badly beaten, looked like he was half conscious from what I could see. There was a lot of blood.”
“Hake's the big bastard isn't he?”
“Yes. Strell always seems to be a disruptive influence. Hake had been pretty calm the last few weeks.”
“Well, we'll have to pop the cell doors quickly and try and get him down as fast as possible,” the armoured guard replied. Behind him a row of guards in heavy duty armour lined up. Each of them carried either a riot shield or stun baton.
“Strell's managed to make himself a shiv again,” the female officer added. “Why aren't we negotiating any more? We might be able to get the hostage out.”
“Warden's orders. Protests are on the up, it's time to stamp out the flames before things get out of hand again. Besides, you know the prisoner they're kicking the hell out of is right?”
“Yes, but it's not out place to . . .”
“Yeah I know, but these are the orders. Let's just say I'm not feeling too bad for that one. He killed a law enforcer,”
“You know they argued at the trial that it was an accident,”
“Whatever,” replied the armoured guard, pulling down his visor. “Let's get this done,”

~~

 

[Raziel]

“Now Sergeant Rackis, you'll have to forgive me for asking you to repeat facts again, but you understand this is a very serious matter?”
“I do, of course, and will do my best to bring this incident to a close,” Rackis replied. He sat on one side of a large wooden desk. On the other side three men sat closely. One was watching him intently, the other reading through some notes, and the other addressing him. The room was small, the windows closed and the atmosphere oppressive. Rackis had always found this room intimidating. It was well lit, with clean white walls, and yet its sparse nature and low ceiling always made it seem small and unpleasant.
“You were told by SCO Searl here,” the ombudsman gestured to the female prison officer beside him, “that Prisoner Strell had fashion a shiv before you led your men into the room to contain the prisoners and return them to their cells?”
“Correct,” he replied. He’d been advised by the Union rep to stick to the facts, yet keep his responses simple as much as possible.
“Can you tell me why, in your initial report that this was not originally mentioned?”
“It was a simple mistake.”
“Very well. Now your version of events is this: upon entering the room your men disarmed Prisoner Strell and ensured that the blade was on the floor and out of reach,”
“That is correct, my men will confirm this as the . . .
“It then took several of your men to drag Prisoner . . .” he paused and looked to the man at his left with the notes. He was passed a single leaf of paper. “Prisoner Hake away from the hostage. After several minutes the two the two hostage takers were taken from the cell . . .”
“I'm certain, sir, that it was less than several minutes,” Rackis offered nervously. He rubbed his sweaty hands together.
“Prison recordings confirm a time of three minutes and thirty five seconds between your team entering the room and safely escorting the hostage takers from the cell. I understand this is a typical timescale. Do you dispute this?”
“No, it must have seemed like less time sir,” he acknowledged to the enquiry.
“And it was only at this time that you noticed that Prisoner Hake was bleeding profusely from a wound to the leg?”
“Yes sir, it was on the inner thigh, so we didn't notice the blood immediately.”
“And it was this wound that led to the prisoner's death?”
“I am led to believe so,” Rackis replied.
“Now the makeshift blade originally taken from Prisoner Strell was found embedded in his leg?”
“That is what I have been told sir,”
“Is there anything you would like to add, in addition to your previous statements on the matter? Would you care to speculate how this wound occurred?”
“I can only think that in the struggle he fell on it sir. Or that the hostage managed to get him.”
“Now wait a moment.” the ombudsman interrupted, hold up a hand, palm forwards. He rustled through some notes with the other hand for a few moments, keeping his hand up for silence. “You've never made that speculation before. All accounts so far suggest that the hostage, Prisoner Jackson, was unconscious from his heavy beating from the moment your men entered to room to the point the struggle finished. SCO Searl you described his injuries prior to the rescue attempt as 'severe'?”
“Yes sir,” the female prison officer replied. “They'd been beating him for a while and he was bleeding heavily and unconscious when we managed to get a medical team into the cell.”
“Seargent Rackis, what led you to add this speculation for the first time?”
“Just speculation sir, there are no other possibilities,”
“Well then. As this matter is unresolved, and given your less than stellar record in prisoner safety, you are suspended until the investigation is concluded. The prisoner’s death is to be treated as potentially caused by negligence, at worst a direct result of your men’s action. If that man died in your care through an act by one of your men, the consequences will be severe.”
“Sir, if I may be frank, this is one of the thirty highest security prisons in the core. We can't handle the prisoners with kid gloves, these are some nasty pieces of work. Criminals, murderers, the worst traitors in the Republic. They've killed two guards in the last year.”
“Noted,” replied the Ombudsman. “However this event has now been made public. Until I am satisfied that prisoner welfare – which this governments takes very seriously – has been maintained and my investigation complete your suspension shall hold.”

~

 

[Raziel]

“. . . and so we conclude that our client, Kress Jackson, should no longer be kept at the maximum security institute. His initial sentence was made more severe due to the public nature of the death of a police officer. He does not have a history of violence, and has been a model prisoner. The Judge at his trial even acknowledged the evidence for premeditated murder was not complete. However, he has been on the receiving end of several violent incidents since being housed at the facility, culminating in the hostage situation two weeks ago. We make the case for an immediate transfer to a suitable medium security institute.” the barrister finished making her case.

Only ten people were present in the small court room. The client was sat next to her, his hands in his lap. The small and dishevelled man still showed the signs of the abuse he had suffered as part of the hostage incident. A handful of character witnesses from in and outside of the prison were also present, as well as the prosecutor's legal team.

The judge leaned forward, the elderly man looked at the people present in the room from behind thick, unkempt eyebrows.

“Given the evidence I see no reason to keep the offender in a maximum security incident. To do so would place the offender at further risk of injury, and waste the tax payers money on unnecessarily extensive security. The transfer shall be conducted in no less than two weeks.”

 

[Raziel]

The recently reinstated Sergeant Rackis leant back in the chair and tried not to doze off. With the exception of the unhinged prisoners, transporting offenders between institutes was always a dull affair. The armoured speeder carried just a three prisoners, but transfers in and out of Long Crescent always involved the presence of armed guards. The rear of the armoured vehicles had seats down both sides. Two men flanked the prisoners, Rackis sat opposite them with another pair of guards either side of him.

Five armed men for a short spin back to civilisation. The maximum security facility was a long way from civilisation. Isolated from the rest of the community, and for good reason. Hot as hell, cramped and packed full of the most violent offenders in the Core - Rackis was glad to be out of the place during working hours for once.

Whilst there were no windows, he knew the aerial vehicle would be winding its way through traffic along one of the city's hyperways. Of course one of the prisoner’s was hardly violent, but he was perhaps the worst here. Rackis looked at the human male on his left, Arth Janes, notorious for selling military secrets to the enemy. Rackis would have loved an afternoon to beat the truth out of him, yet Republic law ensured such a cushty justice system that the man had managed to keep that secret to himself.

The prisoner opposite him stirred suddenly. Rackis watched him carefully, letting a hand slide to his stun baton. He might usually have given the prisoner a verbal warning, or threatened violence just for anything other than silence. Given his probationary status, Rackis decided to stay quiet.

Then the prisoner started to mumble.

“One either side of me, three opposite . . . I'll deal with that one . . . I see . . .don't worry he's mine . . .”

“Hey! Prisoner Jackson? What was that?” Rackis asked. The prisoner had never shown any signs of mental illness before. Always having been quiet and polite. It made little difference in Rackis' mind. Cop-killers could be as polite as they wanted, they still didn't deserve even the freedom of a cell.

The prisoner raised his head and opened his eyes, as if rousing from a day dream. His eyes met Rackis' and the faintest hint of a smile appeared. There was something different about him.




OOC/ Yes I've been naughty, I'm playing in Republic space, made lots of assumptions and didn't even ask nicely first. Because story. If I go too far with this by the end I'll be happy to declare non-canon, but when the reveal comes there'll be plenty of time to try and stop the escape.

 

[Raziel]

“Driver!” the prisoner shouted.

“You do not directly address the driver!” Rackis shouted, this time he pulled the stun baton straight from his belt.

“Stephen?” the prisoner shouted.

“I told you . . .” Rackis started to warn, but the wall between the back of the vehicle and the pilot's cabin had already turned transparent.

“What can I do for you?” the pilot asked, turning to face the prisoner.

“Stephen, what are you doing?” Rackis asked. The other guards shifted in their seats, several had their hands on their sidearms.

“I think it's time we made a quick stop.” the prisoner declared.

“No problem,” the pilot replied.

Rackis wasted no more time, he stepped across the gap and slammed the stun baton across the prisoner's head. There was a crackle and the prisoner slumped forwards in his seat.

“Stephen, what are you doing?” shouted another guard as they felt the vehicle turning.

“Sergeant Rackis to any nearby officers. Prisoner transport in progress, suspected escape attempt. Assistance required!”

One of the guards was attempting to force his way into the pilot's cabin when the vehicle came to a stop.

“What's going on?”

“Where are we?”

“We must be on a side alley,”

Rackis ignored the nervous conversation of the other guards. The prisoner was conscious again. This time he seemed different. The bags under his eyes seemed to have lessened, but more importantly it was the focus in his expression. His bright green eyes stared into Rackis' without blinking. That gaze was terrifying.

 

[Raziel]

Rackis brought his sidearm up and aimed it directly at the prisoner's head. He held his aim, but the prisoner just stared back. Rackis looked down at the shackles holding the prisoner's arms, reassured by their presence. His terror was the instinctive terror of an animal confronted with a far more deadly predator, and yet he had felt nothing when addressing the prisoner just moments before.

“What is going on?” Rackis demanded.

There was no reply.

He repeated the question, this time moving the pistol and inch closer to the prisoner. The prisoner just smiled faintly.

“Someone make the call to . . .” Rackis started.

“Too late,” the prisoner said plainly, his eyes never deviating from the stare.

 

[Raziel]

There was the loud thrum of nearby engines and then a loud whirring noise. The cabin was suddenly lit up as blaster bolts filled the air. Bright streaks of green lanced through the armoured walls, sparks flying in their wake.

Rackis slowly emerged from behind his arms once the noise had stopped. Bright streaks of sunlight criss-crossed through the haze inside the vehicle, where the high powered blaster bolts had torn holes in the speeder's armoured exterior. There was a loud clank. Rackis looked around at his fellow officers, none of them moved. Their corpses still smoked where the bolts has passed straight through them in multiple places. Only the narrow strip of the speeder where he and the prisoners sat was unscathed. It was only then that he looked up at the prisoner opposite him.

Those bright green eyes still regarded him. He didn't appear to have flinched through the affair. Rackis' subconscious suddenly noticed something and drew it to his attention. First, that he no longer had his blaster trained on the prisoner. Secondly, that the loud clank moments before had been the prisoner's restraints landing on the speeder's floor.
Rackis moved, but he was too slow. The prisoner crossed the gap in an instant, far quicker than any malnourished human should have been capable. There was a hot white flash of pain and then the Sergeant lost consciousness.

 

[Raziel]

The rear doors of the armoured transport swung open and Raziel emerged from the back of the vehicle into the Cyrillia sunlight. It was the first time he had seen sunlight in weeks and he had to raise his arm to shield himself from it. A speeder manoeuvred close enough that he could jump into the back. Another airspeeder was already racing away from the scene. A man in the back was already hastily dismantling a heavy repeating blaster.

A soldier in plain clothes offered his hand to the Spymaster. Dishevelled and malnourished as he was, Raziel decided not to risk the ten mile drop on his shaky legs.

“Which is him?” the man asked. Raziel pointed out Arth Janes. Another pair of soldiers leapt into the back of the truck and pulled him out. The other prisoner pleaded, but a single bolt to the head ended his cries.

“Please, I’m not a murderer, I just sold secrets…” Arth started to plead as he was unceremoniously heaved into the escape vehicle.

“I know,” Raziel snapped back. “You were selling them to me.” The traitor to the Galactic Republic simply lay there, wide eyed and silent.

The pair of soldiers were in action again, heaving two bodies to the back of the vehicle. Wearing the same prison uniform as Raziel, the bodies were pockmarked with blaster burns. With one swing and heave they threw each body in turn into the back of the prison transport.

“Yes, but one moment” Raziel replied. “Stephen?” he shouted back towards the armoured transport.

“Yes sir?” came a reply.

“Time to turn the engine off!”

“Yes sir,”

As the rear doors were shut, the transport cut its repulsors and dropped like a stone. Even for a master manipulator like Raziel, working on a simple minded fool like the driver, it was not really possible to ask a man to blow his own brains out with the Force. Indirect suicide, however, seemed eminently possible. Raziel took a seat as the airspeeder accelerated and entered back into a line of traffic. He was tired, exhausted and malnourished.

“A shower would be nice,” he volunteered. The man at the helm, likely one of Spynet’s elite exfiltrators grunted.

“Let’s worry about getting off-world first.”