NationStates Jolt Archive

As Marcus Slade entered cell block 36, something told him he wouldn't be there for long...

"That him?"

"Yeah, Slade..."

"The muthaf**ka that killed all them KKK an' they families?"

"Yep... seen his face on the news yestaday."

Slade looked like he'd be at home in a prison, his skin was the hue of a good suntan. His close-cropped hair was straight and black. Slade had never been to a beach, much less spent enough time there to develop a tan. He was 'of mixed heritage' as his social worker had once said. Marcus' father was a white ex-Marine-turned construction worker with a drinking problem, and his mother a black schoolteacher. Marcus had inherited his father's height, he stood around 6'1", with a slim, muscular build. He owed most of his 190 lbs to the USMC and his mother's high metabolisum. His dark brown eyes glared hatefully at the guards as they locked him into his cell.

Slade settled down on his bunk, closing his eyes. His execution was in three days, by lethal injection. A massive tremor shook the foundation of the prison. Strange, because the Jerry A. Blackburn correctional facility was situated in a dense forest, built on a solid limestone slab. Marcus was on his feet in seconds, the echoing screams of his fellow inmates ringing in his ears as the lights flickered. In the cell to his left, blood sprayed out into the hallway between the opposing cells. The man across from him was viciously being thrown around his cell by some unknown force. The barred door finally gave way, and the man rocketed across the hallway and slammed into Slade's door, bringing it down on top of him.

Marcus awoke some time later, and staggered out into the cell block. The cell to his right had been fairly quiet. Marcus found the occupant lying on his bunk, a shiv buried deeply in his chest. Slade tugged the makeshift knife free, the owner clawing at him as he did so. Slade stepped back in caution, but it was only the reflex of a dying man.

Marcus stalked towards the security checkpoint, where a nervos-looking guard stood...

"Get back in your cell inmate! We'll have this problem fixed short..."

His sentence was cut short by some kind of machete stabbing downward from the ceiling, impaling his head and dragging him up into the dark network of pipes that ran along the ceiling of the prison. The door's controls sparked, then exploded. Marcus was now able to heave the door open. He tore the security checkpoint apart, looking for a gun, a flashlight, something useful. His gaze fell upon the security cameras. The basic black and white picture showed a trio of guards shooting at something in the hallway. Static filled the screen, and when the picture cleared, all three guards lay dead in the hallway, the dark stain of blood splattered across the walls and floor...

"Holy shit..."

Slade muttered as he exited the checkpoint... He was sure he wasn't the only survivor...

OOC: Salvageable equipment for the other inmates (you) includes .38 revolvers, riot guns, M16's, batons, shivs, kitchen knives, and flashlights.

OOC: its seems someone has seen the preview for the PS2 game

OOC: XBOX actually. Seemed like a good plot for an RP, with a bit of tweaking so as not to be totally unoriginal.

Sergei Kirov was resting in his cell. He originally was sent to prison for killing a rival (for promotion in the military), his wife, and his 3 kids. The memories flashed back to him occassionally. The screams of the wife when he stabbed her husband in the face. The whimpering of the kids as he nailed them to the wall. He remembered the trial, the jury asked him if he was sorry for what he did, he was not. He never had seen the need to be sorry for anything in his life.

He had ended up here after killing a cop in a prisoner uprising. They had sentenced him to death. He wasn't worried, his life never was worth living anyway. He almost rolled out of his bunk as the whole building began to shake. Kirov stood up. He height made him a rather intimidating person, he was about 6' 5" tall, and rather muscular. He never much had gone outside since leaving the military and thus was very pale. He had piercing grey eyes and was one of those people who could outstare a wall. A man flew out of a nearby cell and into one across the hall, collapsing on the inmate, a man known as 'Marcus'.

Kirov had been working on some makeshift lockpicks for a month now. He had really felt like getting vengeance on the guards who treated them very badly. Now it seemed as if they were going to be useful. Kirov fiddled around with the lock for a while. He looked up and saw that Marcus had left his cell. He went back to his work. *Click* Kirov smiled and pushed the cell door open. He walked over to the collapsed cell walls and picked up a metal bar. He then strode off towards the checkpoint, "Finally, they will see how much fun it was..."

OOC: Well done. I was afraid that some bastard would start himself off with a damn M4...

OOC: Thanks, how would they get it in the prison? Stick it up their anus? :D

OOC: Perhaps I can be of help to the two characters by sending in a bunch of Ramadoonian Elite Guards? About 12 (we can go as far as 30 if you'd like) would come in to investigate the incident, while only 1-3 survive initial contact with the "entities". The rest are zombie fodder :lol:

OOC: I've seen people pull that kind of shit before.

IC:

Tyrone Miller stood in the hallway outside of the security checkpoint near cell block 13, a bloody baton in his massive hand. Tyone looked like typical gang muscle, which he was. He stood at a short 5'9", but weighed an incredibe 290 lbs, of solid muscle. His ebony-black, bald head shone under the dim emergency lights.

Tyrone had been lifting in his cell when a guard arrived to take him to his execution when the first quake hit. Tyrone had used the opportunity to strangle the man, taking his keys and baton. He'd clubbed the security checkpoint officer to the point that his skull had broken open.

Tyrone served time for the murder of Rhondel Jackson, a rival gang-supporting crack dealer, as well as sixteen innocent people who had gotten caught in the crossfire on the dancefloor at club Rump Shaker...

OOC: Count me in.

IC:

Anthony Richardson relaxed in an air vent. He had just escaped from his cell after his door broke down, and killed a gaurd with his bare hands, stealing his .38 6-shooter from his downed corpse.

Anthony was, at one point, a serial killer. He was responsible for one of the largest crime waves that swept the country side, resulting in the murder of hundreds of children employed in his business. Before he was caught, he swapped to hunting the elderly. He was 'collecting servants' for the afterlife. But even after numerous victims, the greatest killers are caught. The only thing keeping him alive at the time were pleas to criminal insanity and admission of guilt, paired with a slick tongue.

He crawled through the air vent, hearing the screams of numerous people below being mutilated. Somebody seems to have been inspired, he thought. Maybe it was my work that gave them ideas.

He kicked through a ceiling panel as he reached the end of the ventilation shaft, and it opened up into the prison shower room. He jumped down.

Anthony was a slender man of 28, maybe 6'4" and 165 pounds, easily underweight. His complexion was pale, matched with piercing green eyes and flaming red hair. In his old life, he was an apprentice carpenter, training numerous teenagers from his hometown in his field of work. A carpenters shop was the perfect place to take victims... he remembered their screams as he processed them into living carvings. They all looked so beautiful when he finished, and their purpose had been served.

The showers were empty, and he flung open the door into another cell block, most of killed condemned criminals, doomed to death in a few days. It was empty, save for the trickling of water from a sink still left on.

Maybe, but an M4 rifle? It should end up coming out of your mouth!

Kirov arrived at the checkpoint to see someone had gotten there before him. He looked at the massive man standing there. "Well, you took away my fun." Kirov gripped the bar, unsure of what was going to happen. He wasn't stronger than the man, but he was probably a lot quicker, and in his book, that mattered more.

OOC: I never said how they got it in, much less a magazine or two. An MP5-PDW would work better.

IC:

"An' if you f**k wit me I'll take ya life, too."

Tyrone continued down the hallway, ignoring the skittering sounds of something moving around above him. He paused as something dragged a guard into a broken vent shaft, leaving a thick trail of blood.

He kicked open the door to the admin office, taking a flashlight from one of the corpses. He also recovered an empty revolver, but there was no ammo in sight. The handgun went into the waistband of his prison oranges.

"Hey, I'm on your side here." Kirov put his hands up in front of him. Once the man walked off, Kirov started searching around, the chittering, which he had no idea what it was coming from was starting to scare him. He had to find a gun and he had to find one fast.

Slade carefully made his way through the cafeteria, where several inmates and guards had been disected and roasted. He'd thrown up a few times at the scent of buring flesh. As he exited, a guard crawled out from a shadowy corner, followed by some sort of monster with machetes for arms and legs. The creature drove one of its arm machetes through the head of the guard, licking the blood and brain matter from the blade. It charged Marcus, barely missing him with its bladed limbs. Slade retaliated with a sharp series of staps with his shiv, followed by a hard knee to the things that passed for ribs on the creature. After a brief struggle, he finally drove the makeshift knife into the thing's head. Slade turned sharply at the sound of gunshots and a string of curse-words. A guard exploded out of the bathroom door, impaled on the blades of a sword-creature. Marcus swiftly kicked it in the face, then drove the shiv into its back several times. He then slit the guard's throat, more out of mercy than mailce. The guard had a .38 Smith and Wesson, as well as twenty-three rounds of ammo. The rounds went into a pocket where he could reach them quickly. Slade emptied the chamber of the revolver, adding three fresh rounds to replace the empty ones. Marcus stashed the shiv in a cargo pocket on his orange prison pants, and attempted to wipe the blood off of his white tank-top. He had no success.

The bathroom was a gristly scene, bisected guards and shot-up sword creatures where strewn throughout the small room. Slade paused for a moment to wash the guard's blood from his face, the throat-cutting hadn't been one of his better ideas. The rusty flavor of blood was in his mouth, a familiar flavor from the brawl in the local bar that had resulted in the death of his friend and three local KKK members, whose families he'd wiped out later on. He'd shot the women, and stabbed the men, gutting them in the slowest fashion possible...

Kirov crept through the hallway, he came upon a guard nursing his wounds in a small alcove. The man's body seemed destroyed beyond all repair. The man looked up at Kirov. Kirov felt pity on the man and dealt him a blow to the head, knocking him either unconcious or killing him. The man had dropped a small service revolver, .38 caliber. It seems he managed to kill some creature that looked like it might come out of his nightmares. Kirov picked up the pistol, "1 round" He went through the tattered remains of the guards clothes, finding 4 speedloaders full of rounds. He removed the man's belt and put it on. Then he stuck the steel bar in the belt and reloaded the revolver.

Kris Thomlinson had only be on shift for three hours when all hell broke loose. Witnessing the gruesome murder of his partner he locked himself into the armoury. Though he didn't have a key to any of the lockers. "SHIT! This is bullshit! my first shift here...oh god." Kris looked towards the door, it was shaking on its hinges, something was beating its fists against it trying to get in. Officer Thomlinson scrambled for his .38 and pointed it towards the door, almost in a complete state of panic.

OOC: Can we RP any character who might be in the prison, as in not just inmates but also staff?

OOC: The past three characters have been inmates, so the odds aren't really in your favor if you portray a guard. This is a maximum-security prison, where dangerous criminals are held for a short time prior to their execution. It's your call, just don't load up with a huge-ass arsenal right off the bat.

IC:
Slade located some duct tape in a matinence closet in the bathroom, and fashioned a simple sheath for his shiv, attaching it to his upper arm for easy access when his revolver went dry. His face more-or-less clean, and Marcus stepped out into the dim hallway. The word 'ARMORY' and a colored line was printed on the wall in front of him. Slade followed the line, leading to a large metal door that a sword creature was pounding on with its blades, leaving long scratches in the metal. Marcus shot it three times, twice in the head and once in the back. He reloaded the revolver, empty brass casings plinking to the concrete floor. Slade gave the thing a swift kick as he stepped up to the door, trying the handle with little success.

OOC: My PC's a piece of crap during the week, so this thing will progress slower during that time period.

Deputy Sheriff Carter hated working transfer detail. He didn't enjoy being near the worst of the worst, especially with them sitting in the backseat of his Crown Victoria just inches from the back of his head.

He guessed that his grinning, fresh out of high school partner, Deputy Williams, probably thought this was the life, riding around shotgun in a crusier, not really having to work at all. Carter let a snicker slide out, Williams wasn't a real cop, he didn't crave the action or the work like he did.

He guessed his shit detail was probably the result of a rumour about him and the sheriffs daughter, totally untrue of course, but since he was already dealing with the consequences, might as well commit the act...

He stopped the car just short of the gate to exit the underground parking garage, and he picked up his radio and tuned it to the gatehouse frequency.

"Gatehouse this is Unit 1D-17, just completed prisoner transfer, we are at the parkade gate, we require access."

No response.

"Gate this is Unit 1D-17, please open the gate now."

Once again no response was forthcoming.

Cater turned to Williams, "Get out there and see whats going on with that gate." Carter gave Williams the access keys to the door and watched him exit the car and enter the stairwell. And for 10 minutes he waited, Williams never came back. Carter switched the radio to the Sheriffs department frequency.

"Williams, what the hell are you doing? Whats the status of that gate?"

No response, Carter didn't like the trend that was starting to appear here, he was just about exit the crusier when he heard something walking on concrete or cement, footsteps.

He looked in all directions, but saw nothing.

"What the hell..."

And at the moment, Williams torso and head, seprately, droped from the roof onto the hood of his car.

"AH! Jesus H. Christ!!!"

And with that Carter threw his car into reverse, tunred on his emergency lights out of habit, and sped backwards into the parkade, throwing the body of his dead partner off the hood, all the while screaming and cursing at the top of his lungs.

Something was definately not right here.

OOC: Will that fit in well enough with what you're doing?

Anthony stepped carefully through the shower stalls. There were several men hacked open, and the water running over them, washing the blood down the drain. On the man were a few .38 rounds, maybe 18 in total. He reloaded the empty gun he had on him. The man also had a rather knice knife on him, and he pocketed it as well.

He headed to the far end of the showers, and opened the door with a brief kick. It led into the main hall, and at the end of it there was a door reading Warden's Office. He ran across, hearing a strange skittering coming from inside.

He placed his hand on the door knob and flung it open.

Three gaurds were trying to kill something that appeared to have blades for limbs, crawling extroardinarily fast with inhuman agility. Anthony smiled grimly, leveling his .38 at the back of the gaurd's heads, and opening fire. Two of the gaurds didn't notice the newcomer firing in on them at the hallway, nor when the one of them fell. He just repeated, emptying his mag, killing the remainders. All that was left was the creature.

"My, aren't we a pretty one..." he said coldly, almost purring like a cat. He leveled the handgun and fired. Two rounds hit the beast in the head, and it hissed. It started to charge, but Anthony kicked the door closed. "Not that bright, either. But I figure your brawn can make up for it." He started to run down the corridor, and came into a third. There was a door on the wall that led into the outer courtyard. He exited into the brisk night air, seeing a car driving up to the main gate.

"Hey!" He called out to the man in the car. "Over here! Get over here!" Pretty soon, the car flung into reverse and was out of sight. He started to run at the main gate, but heard the familiar skittering. There was a set of legs lying on the ground not to far away, seperated from it's torso. "Wonder who these belong to," he said, to no one in particular, not even himself.

OOC: That's fine, Terra Alliance.
ASW, how can one empty their mag, then keep firing?

IC:

Slade's journy through the lobby wasn't without hassles... two blade-critters lay bleeding on the floor. Something odd skittered arcoss the room behind him, and Marcus tried to track it with his flashlight with no success... then something jumped on him from behind... a creature with syringe needles for eyes, with several more syringes stuck in its back... one of its hands attempted to stab Slade with one of its many needles, but Marcus caught the arm in mid stab, firing three shots from his revolver into its belly. The impact of the .38 Specials threw the beast off of him, and sprayed blood all over Marcus.

He knelt to examine his latest kill as he reloaded... it was starting to make sense, these things represented different forms of execution. The blade-things where beheading, this new freak was lethal injection... Slade's mind considered the other forms of execution... hanging, firing squad, electric chair, gas chamber...

Kirov ran for his life from a group of the blade creatures, he looked behind himself and fired off 4 rounds, hitting one of the creatures in the face, and killing it. As he ran, he looked desperately for somewhere to hide. He saw a metal door at the end of a hallway, he made a mad dash for it. He ran through the door and barred it with a nearby chair. He turned around and began to reload. He saw Marcus standing over some creature with syringes stuck all over it's body, "There are 3 more of the blade creatures outside the door! And what the hell is that?" Kirov finished reloading his revolver...

"God Dammit, Son of a..."

Carter let loose another string as he continued his backwards trek into the parkade. Must have been a prisoner escape, one of those psycopathical SOB's is running around killing people, killing cops.

He wished that's all it was, but what happened to Williams, no man had done that, there was something here, something wrong.

Carter had to radio for backup, they needed SWAT in here, now. He bent down to play with the radio frequencies but negelcted to note the support pole behind him.

With a large crash his crusier hit the pole at about 50 clicks, caving in the trunk. He was thrown back into his seat hard, causing his head to fill with pain. When his head cleared he looked out the windshield, and saw something out there, something grotesque, some thing covered in blood.

"What the fu..."

He didn't bother to finish his sentence, he looked for his 12 gauge, then he remembered in was in the trunk, which was crushed against the pole, no damn good.

He pulled his 9mm Beretta sidearm from its holster and exited the crusier, and glanced to his rear. He saw the elevator that would take him back into the prison staff area.

He didn't want to go back there, but he sure as hell didn't want to stay out here with that thing. He slowly began to back towards the elevator. Then without warning, it charged him, moving at inhuman speeds.

"Oh Shit!"

Carter ran full bore for the elevator door, firing randomly behind him as he ran, hoping to hit the creature at least once or twice. After getting off 10 rounds he reached the elevator door and depressed the button. He prayed to God that it was still on this level, if it wasn't he was dead.

His prayers were answered, and the door opened, he ran inside and pressed one of the buttons. And turned to see the beast mere meters from the door. He emptied the last of his clip into the creature, managing to slow it down enough to let the doors close.

Carter collapsed in a heap in the corner of the elevator and closed his eyes, hoping that this nightmare would end...

OOC: That's fine, Terra Alliance.
ASW, how can one empty their mag, then keep firing?

OOC: Oops, forgot a reload statement in there... :oops: My fault!

IC: Anthony ran forward towards the main gate which was open, but his instincts told him to stop. He was good at ignoring them and continued on, though. One of the blade-like creatures was standing on the wall. It jumped down, and hissed violently.

"Oh, a crafty little bastard, aren't we?"

Anthony popped out the knife he picked up, dropping the .38.

"Let's do this, then, shall we?"

The thing snapped out at him, and he twisted back with the grace of a dancer. As the beast passed by him, he forced the knife into it's side. It squealed violently.

"You look like something from my nightmares," he shouted, pulling the blade out as the creature ran forward a bit more. "Nothing worse, though, considering I can deal with dreams."

It charged again, hitting up against Anthony, who tried to twist away from the blades, successfully saving everything vital. A long slash went up his arm and was bleeding quite profusely.

He turned around, as the creature prepared for a second assault. He grabbed the knife by the blade, and threw it at the beast. The knife implanted itself in it's head. A low squeal came out and it fell to the ground. Anthony spat hard on it's corpse.

"Merely a figment."

He walked over, and pulled the knife out of it's head, and what appeared to be blood spilled out. He grabbed the .38 on the ground next to him. Turning, he broke into a sprint back to the gate, wincing at the pain up his arm.

Carter winced as the heard the elevator beep as it reached the floor for whatever button he pushed, he didn't even know.

The door opened to a literal blood bath, there were bodies strewn all over the floors, most were murdered guards and prison staff, but a few appeared to be like the creature he encountered in the parkade. They had knives for arms, needle points sticking out of their bodies, whatever these things were, they must have come straight from the depths of hell.

He suddenly realized that he forgot to switch out his empty clip, and quicky proceeded to do so, who knows how many more of those demons were running around this shithole.

He stepped around the bodies looking for more ammunition for his weapon, but there was none. All these prison guards used old .38 specials, they must not have switched over from revolvers yet, crap. He had one clip in his weapon and another one left in his belt, then he was out. He grabbed one revolver off a body, it had not yet been fired, so it had a full six shots. He stuck it in the back of his belt, just incase he ran out of ammo.

Carter wondered if any guards were still alive, he was pretty sure that someone else must be around, so he tuned his radio to the prison frequency and called out.

"Hello, this is Deputy Sheriff Carter, is anyone out there? Please respond."

He waited silently for any response...

The voice of Tyrone Miller crackles over the radio...

"Yeah, bitch... this is DJ 60-2-Life. I don't know what the f**k is goin' on, but we in control now..."

The former gang hitman switched off the speaker so he could laugh at his antics. Three sword-creatures lay in the hallway, their heads beaten to the point of shattering...

The voice of Tyrone Miller crackles over the radio...

"Yeah, bitch... this is DJ 60-2-Life. I don't know what the f**k is goin' on, but we in control now..."

The former gang hitman switched off the speaker so he could laugh at his antics. Three sword-creatures lay in the hallway, their heads beaten to the point of shattering...

Officer James Portland sat in the black Crown Vic Interceptor filling out police reports as he waited for his superior, Sargeant Greg Villa, to come back with dinner--a bag of soggy burritos and two cups of flat soda. They didn't have much of a choice; the Menendez taco diner was the only habitated place within a 50 mile radius, next to the Jacobs' farm and the max secuirty prison 15 miles away. Every one of them was situated along the two-lane highway, its asphalt still pristine due to the fact that it was only frequented by the prison buses and a few tourists from the city coming to gawking at the Jacobs' Beef Jerky museum.

Portland hated his assignment. He had joined the State Troopers to fulfill his dream of being involved in a high-speed chase. Now here he was, in the middle of abso-f*ckin-lutely nowhere in cow country, with nothing to hunt down but cattle. Every night was routine. No drunk drivers, no gunrunners, no armed druggies. Nada.

Suddenly, the squad car's radio blared.

*Unit 21-charlie, possible 10-98 at the state penn. Phone was unplugged while warden was making a call.*

"10-4, Central."

Sarge had heard the call and was already tearing down the dirt walkway from the Menendez's. He quickly jumped into the car alongside the rookie and sped off towards the prison...

-----
The Crown Vic slowed to a halt at the prison gates. Sgt. Villa reached over to the intercom and stabbed at the red "Push to talk" button.

"We got a report of a possible jail break here 15 minutes ago, we were wondering if you could verify that?"

The two waited for a response...

Deputy Carter heard the response over the radio, shit, that meant the prisoner's were loose, and they were armed. Now he had two major problems to deal with, them and these fu*king things.

He also looked to one of the panels, it appeared as if he was in the control room, there were monitors that showed just about every location in and outside the prison, many of them were out, showing only static. But most of the exterior's were still functional, and on one of them he saw two officers standing outside the main gate entrance. He couldnt tell if they were Sheriff or Police, but it didn't matter, they were law, and they were here.

He tuned his radio back to police frequencies, with all this concrete and steel around, his signal may not reach them, but he had to try.

"This is Deputy Sheriff Carter, I am inside the prison facility and we have a major situation here, we have escaped prisoners, and... something else, something horrible.... just get your..."

Carter was cut off the a horrible screeching noise at the door, and he saw another beast standing in the door way, swinging its bladed arms at him.

"Ah No You Don't!!!"

And Carter opened fire with his Beretta at the abomination in front of him.

OOC: Hopefully Slade will pull the plug on the cop thing now, it's getting out of hand. Did you read the first post?

OOC: I ok'ed mine, just as long as I didn't bring in a army, or posses a SWAT van arsenal, make any big changes to the way the RP played, it was cool.

[Edit: Weapons changed, as per your request Slade.]

The police radio within the squad car crackled to life again.

*This is Deputy Sheriff Carter, I am inside the prison facility and we have a major situation here, we have escaped prisoners, and... something else, something horrible.... just get your...*

Villa yelled back his response.

"We copy you Carter." A loud screech. A defiant scream. "Carter, are you there? Carter?" Nothing. Just static.

The rook turned to his superior. "Does that mean we go in without backup?"

"Jimmy...Backup's two hours away. We gotta go in now."

The Crown Vic's wheels screeched as Villa threw her in reverse. Jerking the wheel right, the car did a sharp 180, and careened its rear toward the gate. With a loud metallic clang, it was thrown open.

But before Villa could even open his door, the car shook as something landed atop the car...it must've been heavy, since part of the siren now protruded into the cabin. The mangled hand of the creature slammed into the driver's side window and clawed at Villa; the rookie sat there, paralyzed by fear.

"Shoot it, kid! Shoot it!" Villa screamed at the top of his lungs through slurred words. His left cheek had been torn open by the abomination, and the crimson bile leaked profusely from his wounds. Portland fumbled for his Glock 35 and took aim at the arm, but it was too late. Villa let out a bloodcurdling yelp as the dagger-like claws dug into his shoulder and pulled him out of the vehicle, partially severing half of his torso in the process. It began to devour his body on the hood of the squad car, glaring menacingly at the rook, as if to tell him You're next.

"Not tonight, you freak'a nature..." Portland reached for his 12-gauge, conveniently situated next to his left thigh. Taking aim at its eyes, he let off a buckshot, splattering gray matter all over the windshield.

Shaken but unhurt, he reached for the squad car radio to call in backup...only to see Villa's limp palms grasping the torn mouthpiece. All he had now was his short-range CB.

Portland yanked the keys off the ignition and exited the vehicle. With his left boot, he slid his partner's carcass off the hood and looted it of any useful supplies: another Glock, four clips, mace, flashlight, baton...an exact duplicate of his possessions. He holstered his sidearm and tucked the other onto his belt in order to hold the 12-gauge.

"Carter...This is State Trooper Portland...Come in, over."

Carter kept firing his weapon at the thing, and it took at least four shots in what could be called its head to kill it. But eventually its steps faltered and it collapsed in a heap on the floor. Carter fell down right along with it, out of breath and in shock.

"Shit, you're one tough motherfu..."

Suddenly his radio blared to life.

"Carter...This is State Trooper Portland...Come in, over."

Thank God, someone else sane is in here, he thought to himself, he fumbled for the mouthpiece for the radio on his shoulder.

"Trooper Portland, listen to me, we have a MAJOR situation here! The Prison staff are dead, and those bastards got my partner and my car. Watch your ass you hear me, not just for the escaped prisoners, there are.... there are... THINGS in here!!! I'm in the control deck, I think, just get to the elevator at the end of the parkade and get up here. I'll meet up with you, over."

With that Carter got up off the floor and shut the door that the beast had came through and started to pile anything he could find infront of it, filing cabinets, bookshelves, desks, anything to keep those damn things out, for now.

OOC: Where did I say a USP was a legit weapon? You've got a friggin' arsenal right off the bat, like I asked you not to. No more law enforcement officers after you guys. I let the Berretta slide because there where only two clips for it, and some State Trooper offices issue Berrettas.

How are you going to move effectively with two full-size shotguns on your back? State Trooper standard issues don't come with slings, nor do they issue them USP's. Nowadays it's a .40 caliber Glock or a Smith and Wesson 586 in .357 magnum. The riot gun I mentioned earlier is a short-barreled pump action with a pistol grip. Please people, read the first post, or the mood dies when someone introduces some unrealistic factor.

Kirov ran for his life from a group of the blade creatures, he looked behind himself and fired off 4 rounds, hitting one of the creatures in the face, and killing it. As he ran, he looked desperately for somewhere to hide. He saw a metal door at the end of a hallway, he made a mad dash for it. He ran through the door and barred it with a nearby chair. He turned around and began to reload. He saw Marcus standing over some creature with syringes stuck all over it's body, "There are 3 more of the blade creatures outside the door! And what the hell is that?" Kirov finished reloading his revolver...

Slade didn't look up, he simply walked over to the door and started firing. Two shots per creature, six shots in the cylinder, three kills. Brass plinked on the floor as Marcus reloaded, he was down to about sixteen rounds now. The bloody shiv taped to his bicep was still bloody from his last kill, and he'd have to use it again before long...

"Ain't any more... Name's Slade."

"I'm Kirov, you have any idea what the hell is going on here?"

OOC: Sorry for the slight inconsistencies Slade, I'll amend the posts and give them the proper equipment. The last thing I want to do is hijack your thread :D

*Trooper Portland, listen to me, we have a MAJOR situation here! The Prison staff are dead, and those bastards got my partner and my car. Watch your ass you hear me, not just for the escaped prisoners, there are.... there are... THINGS in here!!! I'm in the control deck, I think, just get to the elevator at the end of the parkade and get up here. I'll meet up with you, over.*

Before Portland could even reach for his shoulder-strapped handset, he heard a low growl behind him. He spun around to face the most horrifying creature he had ever seen in his life...a creature that could only have been found within the depths of Hell itself. Blades for arms...red eyes glowing red...sinews left uncovered by skin--a truly horrifying site. It began charging towards him, but was no match for the Remington 870. With a pull of the trigger, the shotgun tore through its face and gave the creature a buckshot rhinoplasty.

"Yeah, I've seen those things...They're no match for shotguns though," he replied to Carter. Two shots so far...four in the chamber...another six on my belt. "I hope you got a couple of shotty rounds in there Carter, over."

As he strolled towards the elevator, past the carnage those...things...had left behind--entrails, disembodied heads...fingers--his thirst to persevere grew strong amidst the gore. He had been taught basic survival skills in boot camp before being kicked out for insubordinance, which would hopefully be put to good use now.

And Portland had a good reason to keep himself alive; he had a wife and daughter he wanted to come home to. No man...no demon...could keep him from pursuing that goal.

"Yeah, I've seen those things...They're no match for shotguns though, I hope you got a couple of shotty rounds in there Carter, over."

Carter swore, his shotgun along with the ammo was crushed in the trunk of his car. He grasped for his radio on his shoulder.

"Thats a negative, my shotgun and probably the ammo as well are FUBAR in whats left of my trunk, you'll have to make do, make every single shot count, over."

He should probably take his own advice, he had one full 9mm clip with one round in the chamber, and then he was out of ammo. Then he'd have to resort to the .38, which he had no replacement rounds for.

"The Armory!" He yelled out loud, this place had to have a room where they stored their heavier stuff, he'd find it, then they'd be set. Carter dug through the drawers of the desks in the control room, searching for any maps or diagrams of this place so he could figure out where the armory was from his position.

Eventually he came across a hand drawn diagram scribbled on a scrap piece of paper, probably something for the new guys, but it did give a general bearing to the armory.

He'd wait for the Statey to arrive, then they'd go.

The elevator ride up to the control room seemed peaceful enough...Jazz music...the tranquil whine made when pulley made contact with cable...a hiss.

Then another hiss. A metallic thunk.

Something was up there...The elevator rocked violently back and forth as the creature tried to pry open the iron ceiling. One false swipe was all it would take to cut the cable and send both Portland and...it...down to a grisly death.

He had no choice...shoot at the creature and risk hitting a cable or some other important piece of the contraption, or risk having the creature do it for him. Dropping the shotty to his side, he pulled out the two glocks and emptied both clips. The elevator ground to a halt as the FMJ's pierced through its motor, but none hit the cable. Lights, or at least the ones left unshattered, flickered interminantly, revealing crimson liquid pouring from the holes made by the pistols. It was dead alright...but so was the elevator.

With his luck, however, he had reached the control room...barely, anyway. Both sides of the door had opened early after the motor malfunctioned, and there was enough space for Portland to squeeze himself through. Getting on his tiptoes, he surveyed the area at first. Sure enough, Carter was there. He slid the Remington 870 towards him and climbed into the room.

"Sure am glad to see someone with skin on..."

"Sure am glad to see someone with skin on..."

Carter grined, and he slid the Remington 870 out of Portlands way as he climbed out of the wrecked elevator.

"Well I'm surprised I still have my skin, from the looks of what went on here."

He grimmaced as he saw Portland squirming his waist and his legs out of the elevator, god he'd hate to see what would happen if those cables snapped. This place had a way of ending people in gruesome ways...

He handed the Remington back to Portland and pulled his holstered Beretta out, and looked at the pile of desks and filing cabinets he pushed in front of the door, then looked to Portland.

"You wanna help me move this crap away from the door so we can get the hell outta here?"

OOC: I appreciate your understanding, Ramadoon. The S&W 586 might have been a better choice, it fires .357 magnum, .38 Special, and regular .38's. That's Marcus' weapon of choice outside of this RP. Add a set of over-sized black rubber handgrips and a three-inch weighted bull-barrel, and the thing's got less kick than a Glock 9mm, while remaining comfortable to fire.

IC:

"No f**kin' idea, man. These things keep coming... my guess is that they where inmates at some point, and where executed with some sort of blade-thing. This sneaky piece of shit must have died by lethal injection..."

Marcus boots the corpse of the needle-thing, potassium chloride spilling over his prison boot...

OOC: NP Marcus. I really don't want to let this post die (although I haven't been able to put one up since Monday...), so I'll compromise. Anyway, it's your thread, remember? :D

"You wanna help me move this crap away from the door so we can get the hell outta here?"

"Wait? What about the prisoners? Are you sure there's no one left alive?"

He took a quick glance at Carter...Didn't look too strong, didn't look too weak. This guy seemed to be able to handle himself well.

"I mean...if you've stayed alive for this long, there's gotta be other guys too right?"

But Portland didn't even need to wait for a response--a quick glance at the security console revealed what he had suspected all along: two prisoners, still alive. Talking.

"Can...can we talk to those guys?"

Carter looked at the monitor than back at Portland, shaking his head all the while.

"I wouldnt bother, those are death row inmates, worst of the worst, they are just as likely to kill us as those damn things are..."

He sighed and looked back from Portland to the monitor, looking unsure of himself. Maybe they would be a little more amicable because of what happened, but he still found that to be unlikely.

"I think if you want to use the P.A. system, I think you have to select the section that they are in on that panel then use the microphone..."

He stopped moving junk away from the door for a moment, "Look, you wanna talk to the enemy, be my guest..." he motioned towards the control panel "...but I'm gonna get to the weapons locker and dont forget for a second just what you are to those dead men walking, the enemy, a law dog..."

Deputy Carter trailed off and went back to work moving his self-made barricade out away from the door, he was almost finished...

"...dont forget for a second just what you are to those dead men walking, the enemy, a law dog..."

Convict or not, they still deserved a chance to escape Hell...

At first, he hesitated. His finger hovered over the button slightly, and finally he held it down. Clearing his throat, he began to speak into the microphone.

"Guys, can you hear me? This is State Trooper Portland. We're gonna try to do everything we can to get you guys out of here."

Marcus didn't listen... he never trusted anyone in a uniform, even in a situation like this. They wanted the glory of bringing down a gun-slinger like himself, which would garner even the most inept cop a promotion and a pay hike. He was doing fine on his own, so he approached the prison's main doors, located a little off to the left of the lobby...

A startled form lifted hands, and a woman's voice said, "For God's sake, don't shoot!" She had a slight germanic accent, and as she stepped into the light she revealed herself to be a woman in her late twenties, fair haired and blue eyed, wearing a businesslike attire that managed to only hint at her feminine figure. With an effort, she controlled the fear in her voice and said, "Thank God someone else is alive..."

Before Portland could even see the reaction on Slade's face, he heard a noise from the now-opened barricade. With both Glocks drawn, he pointed them at the startled woman.

"For God's sake, don't shoot!"

He almost did. She had caught him by surprise...luckily, it had not been one of those...creatures, or else he'd be dinner by now.

"You work here?"

Kirov evaluated the situation, "I could take 1 of them, but the other would shoot me first, especially considering this pea shooter that I have." he thought.

Marcus kicked the door a few times, but it didn't open. He'd have to find another way out...

'The basement's definately out, it'll be like the mouth of hell down there...'

He returned to the lobby area...

Marcus kicked the door a few times, but it didn't open. He'd have to find another way out...

'The basement's definately out, it'll be like the mouth of hell down there...'

He returned to the lobby area...