NationStates Jolt Archive

The heavy oak doors swung shut noisily behind him, the elaborate patterns of the gold inlay on the scarlet varnish shimmering. The light, music, and wild celebration in the ballroom was promptly cut off. The room was silent now, its gleaming onyx walls and floor the only safety. The room was black- pitch black, inky darkness coating every inch of it. No sight, no sound, and the man could only feel void around him. His thumb was poised, trembling, over the locking mechanism, his index finger stroking the ivory trigger of the weapon at his side, beneath the folds of his cloak.
He heard the rumbling of deep, amused, sinister laughter to his side in the dark, and light burst around him again, as the electric torches suddenly exploded into brightness. The small room around him was opened, the light washing over its corners, cleaning the shadows off the walls. He saw that he was not the only one in the room. He was alone in his tension, which made him start, even though he was expecting it, even though he had been startled many times this night- when the guard had been shot and killed, when the black car with the silent engine had sped by without being noticed by anyone accept for him. He had been the wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was going to pay for it.
As his awareness grew of the now-stunning room, he saw the men around the table, all dressed in the regal gold and blue of the high council. In every corner, their steel blades shimmering, their white, milky gowns touching the floor, with golden armor over their bodies, the clerics watched, through the slits in gleaming, smooth, featureless helmets. It was not the first time he had seen clerics in person. He had been unlucky to have that honor only three hours ago. A prophet gestured towards an empty seat.
"Please, sit down."
Warily, the old, plump man, shuffling his with his scarlet nightcloak, pulled the chair out, expecting at any minute for the old men to slit his throat. What was worse was the demeanor of the men- all smiling, pleasant, benevolent, as if there was nothing wrong. The plump man almost felt at ease, and tried to show it, but his walrus mustache twitched excitedly.
At the head of the table, staring at the man with a smile that would shame any crocodile, was the Prophet of Prophets himself, his heavy robes of blue and gold burdening his arms, while fingers laden with jeweled rings absently drummed on the tabletop. Scarlet eyes burned as they looked at the man with the walrus mustache- the burn of unspeakable anger. The Prophet Jihuntae spoke.
"Well, Madouc, I suppose that you could be in need of a beverage, accounting what you have witnessed on this night."
A gauntleted hand suddenly materialized, a silver tankard of spiced, hot ale in front of the plump man. Cautiously wrapping his fingers around the handle, Madouc looked around the table, his eyes sliding shadily from prophet to prophet. All were smiling, happy, as if there had not been murder tonight- murder that they had orchestrated, premeditated, masterminded. He brought the silver cup to his lips and paused. Jihuntae urged him on cheerily.
"Go on, Madouc, my man. Have a drink."
Deciding that if they wanted to kill him, they could do so anyway, Madouc sipped from the ale, not caring if it was poisoned. His eyes lit up with the electrifying taste.
"Many thanks, sir," he said, "it is wonderful."
The prophet smiled wider and chuckled, glad to see his guest so comfortable.
"Now," he said, "how much did your eyes perceive?"
(OOC: This is a story about my nation. If you would like to join in please TG me first. Mostly, though, this is just between a few people. Feel free to post comments, I would love some feedback.)

OOC - I am confused, can you answer some questions please

Can anyone join in?
When is this set?
More importantly can I join in?
Are there any rules?
Can I come in as one of the bad guys round the table?

And so Madouc told his tale, resigning to his fate, laying out before the prophets all he knew: corruption, greed, murder. He told them all of it. Everything.

Three hours earlier
He had been walking on the streets as moonlight shown upon the spindly towers, making them wink silver down below. He had felt it getting colder and sensed rain coming, so he pulled up his hood and headed for home. One of the guards patrolling the streets walked by him and gave a nod of greeting. Madouc had nodded in return and proceeded onward towards the tower in which he lived. And then, from the blackness, there had come something else black, something that gided along the streets as if it were another shadow. He barely saw it, and did not hear it at all. Its engine propelled it swiftly but silently forward along the smooth street. And then the window had cracked open, and a gauntleted hand had reached out, gripping a pistol. The guard looked over for a brief second and widened his eyes before the trigger was squeezed. The bullet exploded from the barrel, thudding into his body. Screaming silently, the guard was about to collapse when the next bullet came, thudding into his heart. The car came to a stop and its doors opened. Two men, looking like ordinary street urchins, stepped out of the luxurious automobile, calmly proceeding to the body, lifting it, and laying it on the soft leather seats. From inside the car, eyes peered out- scarlet eyes. The eyes of a prophet.
Madouc had darted around a darkened corner long ago, clutching his mouth so as not to make a sound, watching silently as he could, hoping he was not seen. And for an instant, he saw the eyes of that prophet, and almost thought the man could see him. And knew that this man was the Prophet of Prophets. He knew the face, the famous face on propaganda speakers everywhere. In the real world, now, it seemed infinitely more frightening. Prophet Jihuntae. The two urchins stepped into the automobile, and again a gauntleted hand reached out, closing the door. The car sped down the street, disappearing into the night.

OOC - I am confused, can you answer some questions please

Can anyone join in?
When is this set?
More importantly can I join in?
Are there any rules?
Can I come in as one of the bad guys round the table?

OOC- I'm sorry, I should have written something at the beginning. This story takes place in my nation and involves a lot of history that I've set up for it. Mainly, it's just me telling a story, but if you wish, I can fill you in on the plot and you can join. TG me if you want in and I'll tell you what's going on.

OOC- I'm sorry, I should have written something at the beginning. This story takes place in my nation and involves a lot of history that I've set up for it. Mainly, it's just me telling a story, but if you wish, I can fill you in on the plot and you can join. TG me if you want in and I'll tell you what's going on.


I dont know what a tag is, its all mumbo jumbo to me, but sure, id love to play a part in your story if u would let me.

OOC- TG doesn't mean tag, it means telegram. Well... I think. Maybe tag means telegram. I never put it out into the open, but I don't know what a tag is either *blushes* So, I guess I'll send you a message and we'll go on from there.

Madouc looked down, the light casting shadows on his face. "And then," he said, "from out of nowhere, a group of street folk came, three men strong. One had a blunt piece of wood, and knocked me unconscious." Madouc continues, about what happened an hour and a half after the guard was shot.

30 minutes earlier
Madouc woke up in a golden chair with red velvet cushions, on a glass table that was empty. Bewildered, Madouc looked around, trying to make sense of what had happened to him. Around him, people danced quickly and with great excitement. Above him hung a crystal chandelier, and around his table were many others, full of people talking, whispering, pointing, toasting, gossiping, and laughing. A nearby table, this one all female, looked at him as he shook off his sleep and giggled. Bewildered, Madouc left his seat and walked up to them. Still staggering, he tried to say: "Where am I?" but his lips were loose and instead came out a string of incomprehensible words. The women laughed some more. Leaving their table, one said: "I would suggest you sleep it off, sir," and joined her friends.
Stumbling about, Madouc quickly drew attention from the rest of the ballroom. Stopping to ask the occasional dancer where he was, he was met by laughter sometimes, and by frightened pleas other times. No one took him seriously. What had those urchins done? Why had they dropped him here? A blow to the head would not have made him act like this. They must have somehow drugged him. Feeling around, Madouc found nothing missing- not even the ivory pistol with golden trigger guard and inlay patterns, issued by the Royal Lictorian Guard itself. Veteran members got the perks these days, which seemed fair enough, seeing as Madouc had not only risked his life in the line of duty, but spent several years in the academy with fools like Yyrkoon-Tiam holding him back and bullying him. Then again, Yyrkoon-Tiam was dead now, and surprisingly, Madouc found himself upset. Why did those men shoot Yyrkoon anyway?
Stumbling through the ballroom with no answers, Madouc found a door and opened it. It led into a garden, filled with roses of all colors- some red, some white, some black. Breathing in the fresh night air, Madouc looked at his timekeeper. Nothing fancy, just an ebony case with golden Royal Lictorian Guard seal and a ticking miniature clock inside. He had been here fifteen minutes and not known why. He had to leave. He did not understand what made him feel such, but he had to leave. Searching for a path, he turned left, and then right, down the winding, confusing cobblestone path, through the maze of roses. Turning every way, he soon lost himself, and could not find his way back. Whatever he had been drugged with, it was only starting to wear off. Running now, he made his way through the maze. And then-
"Halt." The word was spoken calmly, but firmly, in a deep and commanding voice. Clerics, fully armored, with automatic weaponry in their arms, muzzles pointing towards Madouc. Madouc was drugged, but not foolish. Stopping dead, he held up his hands and was led back into the building, into the ballroom, and through two oak doors...

The prophets looked thoughtful. They were judging. They were most certainly not judging whether or not to kill him, that was doubtlessly set in stone. No, they were determining, probably, in which manner to kill him that would leave less evidence. Not that it would matter. No one had enough power to overthrow the prophets.
Madouc shivered in the room, which more and more began to feel icy cold. What were the prophets thinking right now? And why did they kill Yyrkoon? Madouc pondered these things as a cleric silently drew closer behind him, and raised a shimmering blade...

Swizex loved his job, it was the only one he could find that actually paid him to kill people, this was the moment he had been waiting for, he hadn't killed in hours, he shook just thinking about all the things he would do to this man. He beathed hard, and swung his sword downwards, this was the bit he loved the most, when the blade hit the skin, the thud, the blood and most of all the scream. He drooled just thinking about it.

It was in that instant, that, by some chance, Madouc decided he wanted one more sip of ale. Turning his attention towards the tankard, he saw it- a cleric, blade swinging down, singing as it cut through the air. He leapt from the chair as it burst into a shower of splinters. From the folds of his cloak burst the ivory handgun. He squeezed the trigger and a bullet tore through a lair of thin golden chain in a nearby cleric's armor. The cleric clutched his wound as slowly, a small trickle of red snaked down his armor. He fell to his knees, the metal pads clanking against the ground, and collapsed dead.
There was the ominous shhhhhink of blades being drawn around him, and Madouc turned his attention to them. Three clerics. No one could take on three clerics- they were the best of the best, trained in the holy halls from childhood after being chosen by the council- first as apprentices, then as monks, as clerics, and finally as prophets. Few made it to the cleric stage with all of the grueling exercises the guild put them through. But one thing was certain- the clerics were good. Inhumanly good. They killed without mercy, and without emotion, lightning-fast machines, instruments of the prophets. They were the blades of the prophets. And they killed well.
Knowing that in any second he would be dead, Madouc turned his feet to the door, lifting his pistol to squeeze off a few more rounds. He hoped he wasn't too late.
(OOC- Christac, I sent you a TG. There are some parts of it that don't matter now, but please read it before you post again, there's some stuff in it that is necessary to know about the story.)

Swizex was shocked, voices inside his head took over

he had not got his prey

this was not right

He...had...not...got him

He...had missed

He did not know what to do, he had never missed before. He just stood there, letting his arm drop to his side, the sword hitting the ground with a loud clunk. He stared at the man who he had missed, watching his every move as he himself, backed to the corner.

As he watched the man pull out a gun and aim it at Swizex's fellow Clerics, he only had one thought on his mind.

This man could not be allowed to live

Madouc did make it to the door, and burst right through it as a matter of fact. Of course, he knew he was not out of the danger yet, but as he ran, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, only to have it shattered once again. Gunshots tend to make noise, and had naturally sent guards into the ballroom. Madouc raised his badge in the air, but it did no good. Upon seeing him, the first man lifted his own ivory pistol and fired. A brass shell fell to the ground as Madouc leapt for cover behind a heavy oaken table- and not a moment too soon, either, he realized, as a bullet punched through the thick doors. Hopefully it had slammed Jihuntae between the eyes, but that would be asking too much of the gods. Jihuntae didn't seem to die easily- gods knew that there had been plenty of assassins in the olden days.
Dancers marched out in an orderly fashion, as was the procedure in Lictoria, while another bullet glanced the marble floor. Guards swarmed like flies, taking their positions in a standard surround formation. But Madouc had been trained in every formation. He recognized this one to be the one used on suicide bombers or gun-toting maniacs. They would try to snuff him out, quickly. So he would just have to be quicker. Looking for a diversion, he saw it in three guards crawling on their bellies, just low enough that he couldn't afford to aim at them from above the table, which was providing meager cover to say the least, but fortunately he wasn't out in the open now- harder to aim at. Perching his trigger hand on his left forearm, he closed one eye and squeezed. Above, the link between a chandelier's golden chain and the ceiling burst in a shower of sparks and rubble. Falling to the ground, the chandelier shattered, blasting glass shrapnel everywhere. Except for a few candles (yes, candles with actual fire, unbelievably), the room was now dimly lit. He could escape with no more shots fired- he hoped. But he heard the creaking of a door, and the sound of two clerics coming. And if he knew right, the third could very well be on his way.

Swizex had got over the disbelief. Now all he could feel was anger. He threw his sword to the ground

The weapon of failure

And pulled out two silver pistols from his belt

The man had taken down one of the Clerics, now lying on the ground in pain. In a pool of his own blood.

Pitiful, he had allowed himself to be shot by a common guard!

Swizex, held up his pistol and finished the Cleric off.

Weakling

He now turned to the door. That MAN was the other side.

Swizex slowly walked towards the wooden barrier and put his hand on the handle. A bullet came bursting through and hit one of the Prophets in the arm.

The other clerics, now next to him all had their pistols out. Swizex pulled down on the handle, and they all burst into the ballroom.

The door was open. There was a gleam of silver- cleric pistols. Deadly- the most powerful handguns the kingdom could forge, punching through stone and steel like paper, blasting apart skin and bone with ease. Madouc felt a shiver sprint up his spine.
Meanwhile, the floor was painted with his handiwork. Lying on the ground, one guard was dead, his skull violently crushed from the weight of the fallen chandelier. Another was nearly severed at the waist, but still writhing as blood poured from his mouth. There was a short pistol crack as a cleric eased his passing. Soon, the clerics would have done the same to Madouc. He thought of extinguishing the candles, but clerics would find that to be a further advantage, besides superior manpower, firepower, training, and probably a few illegal serums pumping through their veins- keeping them docile and, above all, incredibly physically able.
Bursting through the door, the clerics came thick and fast, pistols blazing. And they were at perfect angles. Madouc fell to the ground as the marble floor burst in chunks and pieces. He heard the clatter of shells falling to the ground. He could feel, through the swirling dust, a more careful gun, an intelligent eye, placing the kill shot.

Swizex and the clerics casully opend the door and walked in. Noticing a guard crushed under some ruble, he fired two bullets. One hit the guard in the chin, the next hitting his temple. Oh, how he loved the sound it made as the bullet came out the other side making a scaping noice on the skull before it did.

He looked down at his work before turning to the table the other side of the room. He knew that the man was there.

The other Clerics started firing shots in his direction, all of which were going through the table, forcing the man behind to duck and roll.

They would let any two bit shooter into the Clerics nowadays Swizex thought to himself.

Holding his gun up, he squeezed the trigger.

The bullet flew though the air, cutting it as it went. It screeched before slamming into the the oak table. Moments after, a scream was heard. Swizex laughed. He'd got the bugger. (OOC - Can I swear a bit, only mild?)

(OOC: Swear as much as you like.)
Madouc was reeling. He had almost made it to more cover when the shot came. He gripped his shoulder tightly. Had the bullet gone all the way through? God, he hoped not. This cleric- this one was special. Others were emotionless, cold, but this cleric- this man was an animal. What had they done to him to make him this way? The prophets were breeding psychopaths. This man was good.
Blood gushed from the wound. Madouc exerted as much pressure as he could, but it was only a temporary solution. Madouc could see the exit wound, but if the bullet had pulled in any clothing on the way, then the cloth might fester and infect the wound. He had to seek someone with a medkit. Grabbing for a candle, he knew what he had to do. He winced as he dripped hot wax onto the wound, cooking the arteries and quickly clotting the blood. Where could he go? The world became blurrier. Wasn't there someplace? His surroundings were like a swirling pool of water now. Couldn't... he... escape?
And then, over the table, onto the carpet, a candle dropped from Madouc's hand.

It was absolutely stunning how quickly the rug ignited. Little was around to smother the fire. As Madouc ran from his diversion, he looked behind him and saw the three clerics, trapped by flame, trying to reach him. In horror, he watched as one cleric seized a guard easily twice his size, lift him by his shoulders, and hurl him bodily onto the flames. The man's fire-retardant vest kept the flames down, but the sheer heat of it overcame him as one cleric used his body as a bridge, and then another. Madouc did not look to see if the other was coming. He did not care. Two clerics- one cleric- could kill him. He sprinted past two pillars and through the door that led outside.
He found himself in a rose garden, enclosed by stone walls, a cobblestone path going straight ahead. But there was a problem. There was the sound of guards all around- but not the sight of a single one. And every five feet, another straight path sprouted from this one- one path leading left, one right. Madouc was in the Rose Maze- a popular attraction for young matches looking for a place to get lost, but now a deathtrap twitching on its way to being closed. The irony was not lost on Madouc, but he had little time to appreciate it. Dashing towards the nearest wall, he heard the creak of the door behind him and his heart sank.

OOC - Very nice with the throwing of the guard on the fire. I wouldnt of thought of that.

IC - The fire was all around Swizex now. He could feel the heat as it warmed his helmet. He felt it burning his face, the flesh was beginning to smoke, but he did not wince. He gazed at the man that he had hit, as he ran though the oak doors, holding his arm firmly.

He needed his revenge, he had to follow this man

Swizex turned to those next to him; there were two Clerics there and a guard.

A guard! He suddenly thought to himself

Without warning he grabbed the guard by the neck and through him face first into the fire.

The country had enough guards

The man screamed as the fire singed his flesh, his hands waved around trying to find anything to get himself out of this problem. Swizex jumped on the man and climbed over the fire.

When he got to the last step he dug his boot in, cracking the mans skull before continuing through the front doors.

They were behind him. They were coming- faster and faster, they were coming. And there were more threats, everywhere. The garden was alive with danger. Teeming with guards, at least fifty, all dashing about, turning corners, looking for him. It only took one guard to turn the right corner at the right time to alarm all the others- the clerics included. Madouc could not fight them. He had to flee. Turning onto the path immediately next to the one that the door led to, Madouc ran alongside it. Hopefully, the clerics would run straight, going off to his left, not seeing him through the wall of roses. But that might be too much to hope for.

Swizex ran out of the oak doors with the remaining Cleric, and four guards closly after. His heart was racing, this was the best pray he had had in a long time.

He pointed at the Cleric and motioned towards the path in the middle. He nodded and ran in that direction.

He did the same with the guards, telling them to go to the far left.

He knew where the man was, he had taken the path in between these. He would not let any of the others take his head.

that was his right, He had made him miss!

Swizex ran down the path, knowing that the man was only moments in front of him.

And now, Madouc was doomed, it seemed. With guards on one path next to him and clerics on the other, Madouc was being flushed out now by a third party- a furious cleric, a cleric that seemed more determined than his comrades.
Madouc ran as fast as his pudgy frame would allow him to go. But he was no match for a cleric. He would be dead soon, and not a soul would know about it. And suddenly, on the path the guards had taken, Madouc heard the audible click of an assault rifle bolt, the beam of a single targeting laser, and fell to the ground just before bullets tore through the wall, and into the next one.

Gun shots were fired near Swizex, causing the man in front to jump onto the floor.

Swizex seeing this, copied his action as a rain of assault rifle bullets flew directly above him.

Fecking guards!

Swizex held his pistol up, he had a clear shot at the escapee.

He aimed it at the mans head and squeezed the trigger...

Nothing happened.

He looked down at his weapon to find that it had been damaged by the fire.

Damn it!

The guards were still firing aimlessly, without a single hit of either Swizex or the man, when four bullets came flying in the opposite direction.

There were four short screams, followed by thuds and the bullets stopped coming.

The other Cleric Swizex said to himself

He looked up, now with his working pistol in his hand, but the man had turned a corner.

Swizex got back on his feat and started chasing the man again.

He would find him, wherever this man goes. He would find him

Madouc was not the most skillful guard in the academy. He never had been. But tonight, he had been as skillful as he needed to be. But above all, he had been lucky. He could only pray that this luck would hold. May the prophets give me strength, he thought to himself, ran aways more, realized how ironic it was to be praying to the prophets. Everything- his religion, his badge, his oath, his allegiance to the Ways- was corrupt. Everything he knew, all that he had grown up with, was a lie.
He often thought that there was no world outside Lictoria's walls, when he was younger. He learned later that there were other nations, but that they were not like his own- he learned that they were lawless, anarchic, filled with people who killed each other- citizens, not soldiers, not guards. It made him sick to think about it at the time. He wondered if they were a lie, too- if they were not so different from Lictoria. And as he ran, five meters from the stone wall, one thought entered his mind that opened up a new world to him: I hope they are different.

Jihuntae sipped from a cup of herbal medicines. Tarlachians knew their medical science, that could be certain. The bullet that had pierced his shoulder had long been removed, but the wound, with Lictorian medical science, would have taken days to heal. Jihuntae watched, skeptically, as the scar tissue vanished in seconds. Arteries were mended, toxins were flushed from his bloodstream, and he felt a strange, warm, refreshing feeling come over him.
"So..." a grave voice said behind him, "what is our next move?"
Jihuntae turned to face the Prophet Vornieul. The heavy regal robes swung.
"We wait for him to die. Then, we harvest his organs. We cremate the records. We send clerics to the homes of his friends. We send a guard transport, carrying his corpse and the corpses of all who would come looking for him, on its way to the City Guard Headquarters. A cleric will be visiting to look over evidence. He will see the transport coming, and see that there is a convict at the wheel, that the transport is loaded with explosives. He will have to destroy it to protect the building."
"What will the explosion do?"
"Vaporize everything within ten meters- the bodies, the vehicle, the driver, everything- and not singe a hair outside."
"Suspicious?"
"No. We shall say the terrorist must have been only targeting the guards, not the citizens. The man wanted to be a martyr is all. That's what we shall say."

(OOC: Christac, I need a post before the thread dies.)

OOC: Okay, Christac, I sent you the telegram. Making good on the bump.

Swizex had seen the man jump the wall and run down the street the other side. He knew his job. He jumped over the wall in one leap and broke into a run the other side.

This man is mine! He thought to himself. As he looked behind him

I am on my own

Good! This is what I love

Swizex was only moments behind the man, he was going to catch up, it was only a matter of time.

He smiled slightly before running into a guard who was standing still on the sidewalk.

"I'm sorry Cleri...AH!"

Swizex lifted the man up and threw him into traffic on the road next to them, grabbing his shotgun from his hands as he did so. Looking in front of him again; The man was gone. But he couldn't have got far.

Madouc had never been a champion runner. He had never been the fastest, but never the slowest either. Clerics, on the other hand, had run down speeding cars (though really, these days, there was no need, since the mass transit took people everywhere they needed to go. If there was some place that the rails couldn't take them, odds were they shouldn't be there at all.) and made an easy show of it. Madouc couldn't rely on speed. But he could rely on cunning.
Ahead, further along the street, he could see it- the building rails. Dug into an artificial valley, thousands of buildings tower from deep into the ground to miles into the air- Lictoria's population solution. And in between the buildings ran a network of high-speed electric trains on a web of rails. The street Madouc was running on was about to become a bridge. And he could lose his enemies this way. He knew where to go.
Sprinting as fast as he could, he clamped his ears at the sound of a train going by on the rails above him. Two more went below, narrowly avoiding collision. He continued running. Another came. He had to time this perfectly- and Madouc jumped.
Rolling along the separate cars, Madouc clawed for a handhold, and inched his fingers into the separation between two of the cars. The cleric would not be far behind. He had to make sure he had completely vanished, that there was no trail left to follow. There were hundreds of tracks to choose from. The cleric would never know. Below, another train passed. Madouc pushed off from this one and winced at the impact when he fell like a rigid block of wood onto the first car. He log-rolled along it as it moved until he could find the next handhold. He grabbed on and let the train carry him. But he had to know where he was going. Nervously crawling on his belly, Madouc inched forward until he made it to a handle on the side. Hand trembling, he reached down and lowered himself until he could see the number on the side. 4637- the exact right building. He had an old friend to visit- if he could survive the cleric on his tail right now.

OOC - Can't be bothered to log on as Christac, but im him.

IC - Swizex was close to the man when he saw him jump onto a train. He carried on chasing it for a while until it joined hundreds of others. It was now on the main line.

He slowed down, there was no point continuing. He looked at the number on the side as it went of into the distance. 4637, he looked up at one of the many rail buildings near him, and started sprinting towards it.

He burst in through the door to see several engineers talking in the corner.

"You can't come in here, sir" one started

Swizex grabbed both of them and held them up against the wall. He was tightening his grip.

"4637 Destination" He hissed in his snake like voice.

One of the engineers reached out and pointed on a map beside them before two loud snaps were heard and the two men fell down the wall and onto the ground dead.

Swizex looked at the map He knew where to go

If Madouc knew the cleric chasing him- and he was starting to know- then he knew that his foe was skilled, cunning, and above all, brutal. Since this mess had begun, Madouc had seen the cleric finish off around five of his comrades. This man took pleasure in killing. If the prophets had not trained him and cultivated his sadism, they would have locked him up- executed him, probably- and see to it that an example was made of him. He would have died the most humiliating death. If only, if only...
In any case, Madouc could be sure that the cleric would find out the building that he was going to. But there were hundreds of apartments- it would take a long time. Even clerics didn't have the authority to kill everyone in the building. Madouc thought of these things, formulating a next move, when suddenly he was swallowed up in darkness.

Madouc didn't move. What was happening? He heard the hiss of doors and passengers filing out. Sparing a moment to strike himself on the head for his stupidity, Madouc inched his way from the cramped ceiling of the terminal and fell silently to the floor, walking towards the doors.
Going with the immense crowd, he waited in line for one of the large elevators and began speeding upwards, out of the terminal and out onto the surface of the building, looking at the cityscape through transparent glass. Magnificent. Every time he went into the elevator, the city never lost its glory. He especially liked this elevator's view- you could see some of the best architecture from here. Even the Temple of Jihuntae...
Madouc shook himself from those thoughts as the elevator reached the right floor. A short stroll now. Madouc walked past the building's top pizzaria and narrowly avoided a collision with a woman who had just bought a fur coat from a clothing store somewhere on this floor. The woman seemed annoyed. Madouc just smiled politely, to which the woman merely clenched her teeth, rolled her eyes, and stormed away. People were becoming less and less friendly these days.
Finally reaching the right room, Madouc touched his hands to the signal pad. Reading his fingerprints, the room computer buzzed while saying: "Welcome back, Madouc." Madouc said "Glad to be back," to which the computer gave the expected response of: "'Glad to be back' does not compute. This conversation is fascinating. Please say more."
The door opened, and a tall, averagely-built man with brown hair gave a dazzling smile. "Where have you been?"
"Not much time. I'm in a lot of trouble."
Madouc pushed past his friend.
"Got something to drink, Jehumm? I could use a drink."
"Yes- yes, I have some of that spiced ale you like. What's going on?"
Madouc paid him no heed.
"I can't stay long. Where do you keep your weapons?"
"Same place as always, Madouc, you kn- what's happening?"
"I can't say much, but I-"
Jehumm had been Madouc's friend since the young academy days. Jehumm was a good friend when you were a good friend, too, but when conflict arose, he was not one to be trifled with.
"DAMMIT, WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"
Madouc stopped. He was being a bit rude- though he really had few options. As he searched for the gun case, he related the story.

Two steaming tankards of hot, spiced ale were sipped from as the two friends conversed.
"What's your next move?"
"They'll find me. I have to find out why they killed Yyrkoon. You do remember him, don't you?"
"He was never a good student. He lacked discipline. And I never particularly liked him. Quite an ugly chap, I remember."
"Where was he most recently working? I heard he was promoted."
"Well... you know..."
"Where?"
Jehumm looked nervously about, as if someone might hear him, and whispered the words: "Ninth Circle."
Madouc shuddered. Ninth Circle was hell on earth- the worst of the worst were stored in it. Murderers, rapists, pedophiles, rebels- no one went there to serve a sentence. It was merely a storage place for those who were about to die. It seemed more humane that way.
"Why?" Jehumm asked.
"The prophets were apart of this, Jehumm. The prophets themselves. Yyrkoon was stupid, but he wouldn't have deliberately upset the men that everyone in the nation worships as gods. He must have made a mistake."
"What? Let a prisoner go through an error?"
"No. I think he found something, noticed something-"
"Yyrkoon? Perceptive? Doubtful."
Madouc continued, ignoring the insult to the recently-murdered man, "and that the prophets realized he knows too much."
"Then why wouldn't he have told someone?"
"Yyrkoon is stupid- was stupid. They may have bribed him, and he did not know what they were planning."
"The prophets would never allow themselves to be indebted to a common guard."
"Right. So they gave him a promotion, a bigger office, and a slightly above-average paycheck."
"Poor Yyrkoon. I never liked him, but- poor Yyrkoon. What a horrible reason to be killed. Tell you what- this ale is making me queasy. I need my medication. Make yourself comfortable."
Madouc waited for awhile, reopening his friend's weapon case. Standard equipment- grappling hook, two spare handguns, a basic incendiary device. As Madouc pocketed them, something stopped him. He heard the sound of armor clinking, and of a gun outside being cocked...

Through the peephole, he saw it- a legion of guards, headed by three clerics, marching in step. The cleric would not have called for backup. He would not have alerted the prophets. He would have wanted Madouc's head as a trophy, not evidence. This was not his making. And suddenly, there was the sound of Jehumm coming into the room. Madouc instantly looked for a hiding place. Jehumm, what have you done?
Darting into the folds of laundry that Jehumm had left in front of the door for the staff to pick up, Madouc watched through the thin stitching of a dark blue blanket. He looked through it as his friend, his trusted friend, nervously peered about the room to make sure Madouc wasn't there.
"Madouc," Jehumm said to himself, "I do this only for your own good. I pray to the prophets that these men can make you well again."
Jehumm opened the door.
"How glad I am to see-"
There was the crack of a pistol, and the thud of Jehumm's body on the floor, and in that instant, Madouc knew he was going to kill that cleric.

Swizex had finally found the place, he ran up the stairs two at a time, knowing that with every step he got closer to his target. As he ran into what he knew to be the right corridor, he saw Clerics at one of the apartment doors.

Swizex approached them as it opened and a gun shot was fired. He ran to the door as fast as he could.

Prophets! Don't let him have got my pray! He said to himself as he ran.

As he got in view he was relived to see that it was just some other man's body lying there. But he would have to be quick and get in there before the others if he wanted Madouc.

Too many... too many... there were too many of them. What could he do? How would he get out? Madouc searched for a solution- a diversion, a weapon, something- a cylinder came into his hands. The incendiary device- his only hope. Trying to control himself, he went over the procedure. Flick the switch... push in the cap... twist it... now you die, bastard.
There was then the sound of a metallic cylinder rolling along the smooth floors, a gasp, the beginning of a word: "Oh, sh-" and then the blast came. Fire spread over the flame-retardant floor. Unfortunately, flesh isn't flame-retardant. Shrapnel was sent whizzing through the air, piercing the walls and blasting up small clouds. The lights were knocked out and showered sparks and glass on the floor. The detonation compressed the air around it to five times the density of steel, shattering bones and crushing organs in a swift concussive force. Smoke poured from the sputtering shell of what was once an explosive, but now an empty shell.
A guard looked up, sweeping ash from his face. Slowly, the two hands holding him let him down. A cleric's white cloak revealed itself. The guard looked up, wheezing the words: "Help me," but the cleric paid them no heed. He had a criminal to catch.

Madouc bolted out the door in the confusion. He hoped no one had seen him. Racing towards the elevator, he pressed the buttons for the ground floor and sent it speeding along the rails. One, two, three floors down... and the elevator halted. A woman, walking her dog, got on and smiled at him.
"Ground floor, please. Need a place to walk the dog."
Madouc nodded in return, mustering a smile, and let the doors close.
"You know," the woman said, looking at him after a silence, "in my day, elevators weren't nearly this fast."
The doors opened again and a man in a business suit, carrying a briefcase, stormed in, glancing at his watch.
"Ground floor, please. And step on it."
"Sir, I don't control how fast the elevator goes."
"Which is pretty fast, compared to how slow elevators were in my day..."
"Just push the damn buttons!" the man spat.
Madouc reached for the dashboard when he saw it- an lift coming down the rails on the building's exterior, coming faster.

Bump

Swizex heard a metallic role. He knew what it was as jumped onto the floor before a massive explosion rocked the building and smoke started filling the rooms.

He got up quickly and started for the door of the apartment. As he was about to turn the corner, a guard grabbed onto him, "Help me!" As he turned to face him; his pray ran past and into an elevator when he did this.

Swizex knew what had happened

This guard had made him loose his prey. AGAIN! He fired two shots into the man and ran into the other elevator. He put in the ground floor, he would wait for him there.

Closer and closer, the elevator came. Madouc's own elevator was now in a fight. The man with the briefcase was furious.
"Hey! Are you listening to me? I've had enough of your crap, sir, and if you don't-"
The old woman smacked the man with her purse.
"He's a sweet boy, don't you-"
Madouc, however, was looking out the glass, watching as the cleric came closer, and death with him. He had to do something. Suddenly, it happened.
"Everyone down. Now."
Madouc lifted his pistol from beneath the folds of his cloak. The elevator's occupants all dropped on their bellies. Madouc took aim and fired at the elevator with the cleric. The bullet burst through the glass elevator and towards the cleric's helmet.

Swizex heard the shattering of glass, he knew that in a split secound a bullet would be in him unless he did something. He rolled on the floor and pulled out his gun,firing a bullet back in the direction of the last as he went. He saw as it went past his prey and hit some bloke with a breif case (OOC - Don't mind if i kill him?)

Damn!

(OOC: Briefcase guy? Not a bit. Consider him dead.)
On the ground, the man with the briefcase spat blood from his mouth. His eyes became glassy and distant. His hands squeaked on the glass as he tried to rise up again, but it was done. He fell to the floor, lifeless. The old woman shrieked. Madouc took the man's pulse, knowing he would not feel one. The man with the briefcase was dead.
Madouc had a plan. Every elevator on these types of buildings runs along an electromagnetic rail, and required electrical generators, which of course were well-protected in case something should happen. But there was a small hookup magnetic between the elevator and the rail, near the elevator's ceiling. It was only about the size of a man's palm, but it was big enough. Madouc had to try. The cleric was on the floor. Whether he was taking aim or taking cover didn't matter. Madouc fired at the magnet. His bullet glanced off the building's metal side in a whir of sparks. Madouc aimed again, and squeezed the trigger.

(OOC: Briefcase guy? Not a bit. Consider him dead.)
On the ground, the man with the briefcase spat blood from his mouth. His eyes became glassy and distant. His hands squeaked on the glass as he tried to rise up again, but it was done. He fell to the floor, lifeless. The old woman shrieked. Madouc took the man's pulse, knowing he would not feel one. The man with the briefcase was dead.
Madouc had a plan. Every elevator on these types of buildings runs along an electromagnetic rail, and required electrical generators, which of course were well-protected in case something should happen. But there was a small hookup magnetic between the elevator and the rail, near the elevator's ceiling. It was only about the size of a man's palm, but it was big enough. Madouc had to try. The cleric was on the floor. Whether he was taking aim or taking cover didn't matter. Madouc fired at the magnet. His bullet glanced off the building's metal side in a whir of sparks. Madouc aimed again, and squeezed the trigger.

OOC - Cmon, im dying of sespence.

(OOC: Wanted to leave that one up to you- keep in mind that Swizex will have to pull something big to escape. Just as a suggestion- remember the elevated trains?)
The magnetic box crumpled like paper against the speeding bullet, its circuitry boards smashed into sparking, sputtering rubble. Swizex's cart disengaged on the top half, the bottom now sending up a shower of hot sparks behind it, grating along the building's mirrored metallic exterior. It sped down like a bullet until it had almost reached Madouc's, when the bottom magnet finally buckled under the weight and sent the cart careening downward, into infinity. It seemed that Madouc's hunter wasn't going to be bothering him again.

ooc - having big computer problems, probably the last post 2night by me. Develop the story and Swizex can keep turning up every now and then if u want.

ic - Swizex saw that his mode of transport was failing, the whole thing was falling apart. He took one last look at his prey, before smashing out of the side of the carriage. He pulled out his sword in mid flight and plunged it into the side of the building. The concrete and plaster was no match for the cold steel blade as it sliced through everything in its path. Once he had stopped he broke through the nearest window, he would have to take the stairs.

Gone. He's gone. He's gone. Madouc had to keep saying it. The old woman whimpered in the corner.
"Please..." she gasped, "don't kill me."
Madouc looked back, grim remorse on his face. What could he say? Nothing. He could say nothing. He would say nothing. The screen above read Floor 18. Might as well stop here. He couldn't be in the same elevator as the body.

A train swooped into the terminal as Madouc's lift touched down. Picking up a map pamphlet, Madouc saw that this train went up to reach three other buildings and then dove underground, near a bus station. Station 71... what's special about that station? A memory tugged at Madouc's mind, something he had heard in a conference, or near the water fountain at guard station...
A man went by with a drinking buddy of his and tapped the cover of a magazine with his finger.
"... D. Vinge, real monster. Thirty-three bodies in his basement they said. Ninth Circle Pen, that's what I heard."
Ninth Circle. Yyrkoon's beat in hell- the hardest prison to safeguard in the country, if not the region. Suldrun D. Vinge- the notorious serial killer. A word nagged at Madouc's memories. Trans... transport, transformation, transfer... transfer! Suldrun D. Vinge, convicted serial murderer, was being transferred to Eighth Circle Pen- a newer, more restricted, but nonetheless hellish prison. Midnight tonight, he had heard. The armored car would leave at midnight, from station 71. Madouc planned to be on board.

Swizex broke through a window and ended up face to face with an overweight, elderly woman holding a rolling pin. "Out of my house now!" Swizex stared at her coldly beneath his mask, he had not been told what to do for a long time.

"Out!" She hit him over the head with the rolling pin. "Out!" Again. "Out" and again.

Swizex started heading towards the door, there was no use killing this woman, unless she slowed him done. She continued to hit him over the head every step of the way. "Out! Out! Out! Out!" Until finally he left the apartment. He ran to the stairs and started going down steps two by two, he would catch up with the man.

As he got to floor 18 he saw a train leaving. If he knew his prey right, he would not have gone down any more floors and would have been on that train. Swizex burst out through the wall, there was no time to find a door and ran towards the train.

(OOC: Loved the old woman with the rolling pin! Oh, hey, the double-decker bus fight- want to change that to a fight on the subway?)
The train swooped along the monorail, speedily reducing the world outside to a blur. Madouc had never felt so anxious. His hunter was doubtlessly behind him, gathering speed, about to be here. What would he do when the cleric came? There was nothing he could do. The cleric was seeming to be unstoppable. Madouc had to stay alive, to make sure Yyrkoon, Jehumm, all these people the clerics had killed- hadn't died for nothing. He would kill this cleric.
It was as Madouc thought this that he noticed someone pointing at him, talking to a face Madouc couldn't quite make out. And then Madouc heard the sound of guards coming closer. The cleric could not be far behind now.

Swizex ran behind the train (OOC - Can it not be a monorail, that way I can do this;), it was gathering speed, unless he got to the back of it soon it would get away. Swizex found himself out of breath; he had been running for a while. He reached out to the last carriage, he was only several feet away. The train sped up and proceeded to go along the track, until Swizex was not able to pursue anymore. He knelt down on the ground, and looked down the track. It was going out of view, he had failed.

The old Cleric slammed his fist down on the ground, and then he heard it, the reving of a bike on the road next to him. He turned his head to see a teenager waiting for a light to change.

Damn kids!

He walked up to the boy, grabbed him and threw him to the ground. "Oy! Who the hell do you think you are?" The boy said, completely shocked at what had happened.

"This is my bike" Swizex said back

"Don't you know who I am" the kid said smiling slightly

"Don't care" Swizex replied before speeding off on the bike, towards the train in the distance.

The teenager lifted himself back up and picked up his mobile "Hey Bigdogg! Some dick just stole my bike, get the boys together, use the tracking device, and kill him!"

(OOC: Sure.)

Madouc looked up at the flashing sign: Entering Western District. Madouc grumbled. Western District- punk kids on motorbikes, cheap buildings, and worse, not even a decent monorail system. The train lurched as primitive wheels folded down and the monorail catch slot slid upwards into its compartments. Absently, Madouc looked out the window, and swore he saw a cleric behind the train, picking up speed.

Swizex had caught up with the train now, and reached into his holster,

gone! He reached to the other

Broken! The fire! Damn it!

He would have to find another weapon somewhere but he would sort that out later. He looked down at the speed dial 92 mph As he looked down he saw something else, he reached out next to his leg and pulled out a shotgun That will do

He put it back after inspecting it, moments before a bullet went flying by his face, he turned round. There were three bikers on his tail. Pulling it back out again he felt the cool steel on his skin, he seemed to like this gun. He glanced back to the bikers and rested the gun on his lap facing them.

He squeezed the trigger, the shell burst into tens of little lead balls that flew towards their target. The first biker fell to the ground dead.

It was all a blur- the cleric was still far behind, but he was chasing them in reverse, firing at some unseen people on his tail. Madouc watched as the first shot was fired from a shotgun the cleric had been hiding. Madouc knew that the opposition had not fared well. These people must have been street bikers or gangsters. Organized crime was becoming more and more professional in Lictoria. They had schools for killing clerics. Madouc could only hope that these boys had been taught. At least then the cleric would be dead. But Madouc doubted it. It was probably teenagers, too stupid or too arrogant to run away, even when faced by a cleric. Scum though they were, you had to feel sorry for the boys.

Bump

Swizex felt the pain as a bullet hit him in the shoulder. HE GOT ME! He pulled the bike back and shot the biker in the face, it exploded moments later, as his body fell to the hard concrete bellow.

Swizex smiled and continued after the train, these bikers where fun for a while, but they were slowing him down. He looked back at the back of the vehicle. It was heading for the underground, he sped up, he would try and make it to the door before it disappeared beneath the earth.

This was harder than it sounds, at that moment, another four bikers came zooming towards him.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Madouc said. He had been saying that for the past forty seconds now, with variables such as "sir," "son," and "miss." In any event, he had made it through three cars- unbelievably- and was now on the last one, trying to push towards the door at the end. Peering above the heads of disgruntled passengers, Madouc saw the unbelievable- a cleric on a punk motorbike, toting a shotgun, reaching for the door of the train. This was becoming, to say the least, an interesting day.
And the cleric was gaining ground.

Bump, bump, bumpity bumparoo.

Swizex was reaching towards the handle, it was so close now. His hand was touching it now, but a bullet had hit the bike bellow. He was slipping, that bastard had hit the wheels.

Swizex took a firmer grip on the handle, and the bike slipped beneath him. He was swinging on the small bit of metal. The train entered the underground, the bikes were following and he was still firing shots, but his grip was failing him.

In the train, people gasped and shrieked. When a cleric shows up, something bad is obviously happening. When a cleric is hanging for his life onto the handle of the back of a subway train, gun-toting biker thugs in pursuit, then something unthinkably, unimaginably, totally and wholly bad is happening, and it's likely a lot of people are going to die.

(OOC Lictoria, for gods sake, USE PARAGRAPHS! It is horrendous to try and read your stuff when it is not properlly spaced out. Thanks. Make another space between paragraphs. So instead of:

...reaching for the door of the train. This was becoming, to say the least, an interesting day.
And the cleric was gaining ground.

It would be :

...reaching for the door of the train. This was becoming, to say the least, an interesting day.

And the cleric was gaining ground.

It is less of a maze on the eyes. Thanks.)

(OOC Lictoria, for gods sake, USE PARAGRAPHS! It is horrendous to try and read your stuff when it is not properlly spaced out. Thanks. Make another space between paragraphs. So instead of:

...reaching for the door of the train. This was becoming, to say the least, an interesting day.
And the cleric was gaining ground.

It would be :

...reaching for the door of the train. This was becoming, to say the least, an interesting day.

And the cleric was gaining ground.

It is less of a maze on the eyes. Thanks.)

OOC: Okay. Thanks for the tip. Really, I'm just happy to see that someone is even reading!

OOC: Bump. Christac, need a post.

OOC: bump. Bump! BUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMP!

OOC: Last bump, then the story goes on.

OOC - I am so so so so so sorry, I went on holiday, it was a surprise, I can't post much from here, but I will post something big tomorrow, when I’m back.

IC - Swizex turned round and was blindly firing in the direction of his pursuers. Another fell down off his bike and twisted his neck on the ground bellow, but it was clear that he could not take them all out.

He pulled on the handle of the door as hard as he could. Nothing

He tried again, as he ducked to dodge another bullet fired by a gun far behind. The bugger wont budge

As yet another bullet chipped the side of his helmet he felt immense pain on his scalp. That could only mean one thing; they were using acid coated rounds. This might make this whole predicament more interesting he thought.

Swizex knew that these would burn through his skin unless he acted fast. He pulled the helmet over his head and threw it on the fast moving ground bellow. It chipped and sparked on the stone as it went off into the distance. He lifted his head up and stared through the window of the door, still tugging at the handle.

Some of the passengers were looking at him oddly. He couldn’t blame them; his face was not one of his good features after the years of combat he had seen.

One of the passengers seeing his predicament got off his seat and was walking to the door to help the needy Cleric.

Another bullet came flying by at this point, it went through Swizex’ arm,
destroying the handle of the door and hitting the man standing up to help. The door flung open and Swizex burst in, the passengers were running out of the carriage as a barrage of bullets burst through the side of the compartment. Some passengers were turning round and were now looking at Swizex' face in horror.

His black hair covered his forehead, masking the cold soulless eyes beneath. By the right socket, he bore a large scar which went down to his chin. This was a wound he had got in his youth. He looked at the passengers with little remorse. They were getting in his way

OOC: Think nothing of it.

IC: Madouc kept his face low, pistol in hand. He looked at the man who had been hit by a thug's bullet. So many deaths had taken place this day. Looking down on this bloodied man, acid boring at his body, he saw only the cleric's evil. This one man, holy blade of the prophets, had cast a shadow over his life- marking him for death, injuring him gravely, killing his best friend, and destroying every place that Madouc went. And now, another body to add onto the toll, this poor man who was only trying to help.

One by one, cleric. One by one, I will tally the corpses. I will add to the list of people I have killed by not dying when you swept that blade at me. I will add to the list of people I have killed... by letting you live.

As the cleric's face turned towards him, sudden realization hit it. Madouc hoped the cleric had seen him too late as Madouc sprang from the seat, and with a bloodthirsty cry, unloaded on his foe.

Swizex saw his prey stand up, a realisation came to him as he realised who he was staring at. "You"

Swizex jumped up to the roof of the carriage, dodging the first barrage of bullets as they were fired. He pulled his shotgun from behind him and squeezed the trigger towards the man who was now next to the passengers trying to get out.

Five people fell down to the ground, bleeding and screaming in agony. Had his prey been one of them? He walked closer inspecting his work.

Oh! how he loved blood he thought as his boots squelched on the liquid beneath.

Five men down- dead. Innocent. All of them should have been him. If only the blade had hit him when last night began, and then none of this would have happened. But he could not give up now- or else all the deaths would have been for nothing.

He was coming, closer and closer now with each step, his boots sloshing in gore. Madouc had seen worse in his service. He moved his head slightly past the edge of the seat he was hiding behind. The cleric was coming closer. Madouc could not hold his own in a firefight. Again, it was time to hope for luck. Madouc formulated a simple plan: once the cleric came to his seat to inspect it, Madouc would slide under it and down to the next one, where he hoped he could take out the cleric with shots to the back.

As the cleric drew closer, Madouc pushed himself under the seat behind him and started moving back, bringing his pistol up to his chest, ready for the fight to come.

Swizex saw this sudden movement as his prey pounced behind him and tried to turn quickly, but as he did, he heard a load noise and a sharp pain spread across his back.

Grabbing on to the wound, he fell. He got me

Lying on the floor now, he could feel the pain in most of his body, he loved it!

He coughed on the blood of his past victims, and turned to face the man who had got him "Nice move" He coughed "But a wrong one" Swizex pulled a small knife from his side and threw it straight at him.

Madouc lowered his gun, feeling triumphant. And then there was the knife whistling towards him. There was no surprise there- he should have expected it.
"Aw, sh-" Madouc moved his head to the side, but the knife grazed his cheek and drew blood before spinning out the back of the train.

Swizex had missed again, he pulled himself up, with much pain and held up his shotgun. There was no running now, he was about to pull the trigger when he sensed something behind him. He looked round and ducked quickly as more bullets came flying through the window. The bikers

Madouc had just recovered from his last: "Aw, sh-" moment when he promptly experienced another.

While the cleric was an amazing threat to be sure, the bikers were five or six amazing threats who almost beat the cleric. This day was just getting better and better. Madouc had an idea. No turns ahead- this would be easy. As a bullet tore through the seat above Madouc, he groped blindly for the lever he wanted. And then he found it- the emergency stop switch. Pulling with all his might, he let the train jerk and lurch. The subway cars went to a stop. The bikes, on the other hand, were still going when they slammed into the back. Two bikers had their fuel tanks crushed, gasoline now leaking out of them. Another biker had face-planted into the back of the car, leaving a few of his more charming features behind. A final one swerved to avoid the train just as another track revealed itself beside the pursued one. He made it, but the sharpness of the turn caused him to fall- onto the third rail. There was the brief sound of sparks and a gurgled scream, but the sound wasn't the worst. It was the smell. However, the final biker was not lucky enough to die immediately. He pulled his tire up into a wheelie, pushing it over the edge of the door and into the cart, before the bike was severed in the middle- along with his kneecaps.

On the ground, he gurgled in pain. Madouc felt no urge to finish him off. There were bigger fish to fry.

Swizex stumbled to his feet, he needed medical attention. He saw his prey run and tried to run after him, but it was no use. With whatever energy he had left, the cleric through a small devise on the mans back. As he fell down on the floor it all went dark...

bump

bump (OOC - My guy is not dead yet!!!)

The cleric fell to the ground. Dead, for sure. He had to be. Madouc was far from prepared to waste the time or the ammo to finish the man off. There were other clerics, there were legions of guards, that were also pursuing him. He needed a headstart on them- and this ride was going nowhere.

Madouc hopped out of the train car, doing his best to avoid looking at the bikers. The one with the severed shins was groaning, looking at him and lifting his arms. Madouc knew nothing could be done for him. It seemed inhumane to shoot him, but inhumane to leave him alive. Madouc was about to turn away, but pulled from his kit some tranquilizer and a case of darts. He stabbed it into the boy's wrist like a hypodermic needle.
"It will help. Trust me," he said, and went over to a bike lying on its side. "This'll do."

I'd just like to say that my nation is run by three Holy Prophets. I also have a new region started. We are all united in a holy state of helping of others, ritcheousness, and soverignty. We are The Hierarchy...care to join?

OOC - Continue the story, I will bring Swizex back when you get near the end. For now, can I take on the role of the other Clerics?

I'd just like to say that my nation is run by three Holy Prophets. I also have a new region started. We are all united in a holy state of helping of others, ritcheousness, and soverignty. We are The Hierarchy...care to join?

OOC: Thanks, but I pretty much pledged allegiance to Wysteria when I went there. Sorry.
Oh, and Christac- yeah, you can be another cleric, or a guard or something. Whatever you want.

IC: The bike roared down the tunnel, faster and faster into darkness, into what lay beyond the eye's vision. Madouc knew these places all too well. These were the places where resistance fighters fled like rats, losing guards in the mazes of tunnels, fleeing into sewage networks and bomb shelters, or into tunnels they themselves dug. But like rats, they were flushed out, with gas, with fire, with whatever was available. Sometimes they made it. Sometimes they didn't. Madouc for some reason still viewed them as the enemy- but they had been right, hadn't they? Lictoria was... a madhouse.

And then, abruptly, the tunnel ended. Daylight blasted forward. Madouc gunned the engine and disappeared into a network of more trains, the elevated monorails. Madouc saw where the track ended, in the next station. No double-rails here. But riding on those was not the most enjoyable experience in the world, anyway. As he slowed his bike, Madouc casually acknowledged stunned people waiting for the train and got off, parking it next to a bike rack.

Seeing the man arrive next to the station on a bike, Sam was shocked. He knew that these tunnels were filled with rebels and quickly pounced to call the guards. As he described the man, the guard on the other end of the line smiled. They had found him

Madouc was wiping a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth when he turned to see a man, pointing at him. Talking to guards. Speakers and screens lined the skyscrapers in this city- his face had circulated. People knew that Madouc was a dangerous cleric-killer, armed and deadly, a maniac on the loose.

Madouc cursed himself for being such an idiot. Everyone was an enemy now- everyone knew him, everyone thought he was a criminal. Which, of course, he was. He had left a lot of bodies behind him last night, and today. And he knew that, had any other man pulled what he had, he would have shot that man. He would have thought he was guilty. Madouc thought about all the people he had arrested for treason. All the people he had watched be lined up on the walls and shot, feeling no sympathy. And now, he was them. The nation needed change.

The guards placed their fingers on the grips of their pistols. Madouc felt no reason to stay. Keeping his grip on the handlebars of his motorcycle, he wheeled it in some more to the rack, slowly, calmly, and then abruptly turned the front wheel, jumped on, and gunned the bike forward. The monorails wouldn't take a bike. But the hallways would. Madouc pulled the tire up into a wheelie and smashed through the glass doors that led into the terminal. He had been lucky all night, all day. He had to be lucky again.

The plan was simple: ride through the hallways. Fast. Let the guards chase him around. And weave back into the terminal in time to catch the train. That would be easy, right? Madouc hoped so. Behind him, he knew the guards were running. Where would he lead them first?
(OOC: Logging off for tonight. Your post, Christac.)

The guards chased after the fugitive for a while. They followed him through the halls holding their badges above them as they ran. One of the guards stopped and ran up to a pay phone. There was a business man using it

"Get off the phone sir, this is an emergency"

The man gave him the finger and continued talking. The guard got close "sorry sir",

He looked as the pay phone the other side of the hall became free. He ran to it and grabbed the receiver. He pulled out his wallet and keyed in the number written on a card he had.

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Moments later the main door of the station locked itself, the trains stopped and all the doors to the platform closed, the lights got brighter and moniters appeared thoughout, Madouc’s face on each. The building was in a lock down. Only Clerics would be allowed in now, and they were on the way.

OOC - Been thinking of a good ending. How about the Clerics turn against the guards and there is a sort of civil war?

OOC- You mean because the guards find out the clerics and prophets are corrupt, or what? That would be cool, but it would have to be just the beginning of the civil war- the rest could be chronicled in other threads. But yeah, good idea. And of course, we need a face-off between Madouc and Swizex in the prison.

IC- Madouc's luck was wearing thin. His shoulder wound was screaming again, the guards were coming closer and closer to finally getting him, and now, the doors were locked. But again, Madouc had a plan.

The good thing about elevated trains is just that- they're elevated. The good thing about skyscrapers is that they have windows. And Lictorian skyscrapers have elevators that run along the outside.

The last of the civilians had just been ushered up a lift when a guard, toting a handgun, had fired on Madouc. Hunching down, Madouc saw the bullet blast into an elevator door. Gripping his own ivory handgun, Madouc prepared to do a U-turn on his motorcycle, but jumped from it at the last second, kicking the seat as it went by. It fell on its side, sliding along the ground at tremendous speed, and slamming into the guard's ankles with a sickening snap. A rush of guards came as Madouc was pressing the elevator button. In a split second, they had raised their handguns- but Madouc happened to have raised his own a split second before that. He squeezed off one, two, three rounds. But not at the guards- at the motorcycle's gas tank. They don't design buildings just to let them burn down. The floor and the ceiling were fine. The guards didn't fare so well. Madouc had ventured farther beyond the line, he had killed more of his own. He had little time for remorse as he jumped through the open doors and began his ascent.

Meanwhile, a train was roaring along the elevated monorail, three minutes away from the terminal. Three minutes away from carrying a passenger to safety, or leaving him to face death.

The Clerics arrived outside and burst into the station. They held automatics in both hands and shot anything that moved, there would be no chances of him sneaking out.

They marched into the lobby, where they were met by a guard, who came to explain the situation. As he got close a bullet got fired straight into his face. His blood just beat him to the floor. His head thumped against the concrete, and cracked.

Moments after this, screams started as many more bullets left the chamber. Mothers, children, OAPs. No one was spared from the slaughter as they made their way around the complex.

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Two Clerics came into the compartment for a recently come in train. They shot three people before noticing one of their own. They picked him up and took him out the station.

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The guards got blown back by the explosion, most died. Before the elevators closed, one managed to run to the other and click the button. The door opened straight away.

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OOC: I'm confused- did he get into Madouc's elevator, or is he taking another one?

OOC - lol soz, i just read that. Its confusing. Its in the other elevator
.

OOC- Thanks, sorry for the trouble.

IC- Madouc's elevator began the quick glide up. Madouc had to stay low enough to get onto the train, but had to keep moving enough to not be caught. The two elements combined made his job insanely difficult.

Madouc pulled out his pistol and checked it. He wasn't out of ammo yet, but this handgun was in horrible condition. His next shot could jam. He pulled out the spare that he had acquired in Jehumm's apartment and pulled out the ammo cartridge. It was full of blanks- Jehumm wasn't going to be shot in his sleep by some kid with a stolen guard gun. Madouc pulled the cartridge out from the butt of the pistol and inserted a fresh one, adjusting the laser target that his friend had found necessary to aim with any kind of accuracy- the man wasn't famous for his crack shots.

By some chance, the moment Madouc's gun was ready was the exact moment a guard, in a condition that did not seem too good, had rushed into an elevator not far below Madouc and began pursuing him.

OOC: Yes, folks, it's time to bump again! Bump!

OOC: Bump!

OOC: BUMP!
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When Swizex woke up he found himself in the hall of the station with Clerics around him. He heard gun shots all around, and tried to get to his feet. "You will be better in an hour or so sir" one of the Clerics said, whilst putting him back on the floor.

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The guard’s elevator was getting closer to the suspect's, and he radioed in "Suspect is going past floor forty, I am in pursuit"

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Swizex heard this come out of the radio the Cleric next to him was holding. He tried again to pull himself up. "We have got him!" said the other Cleric and tried to calm him down. Swizex pulled himself close and whispered in his ear "Don't kill him, bring him here!"

Madouc screwed the small launcher attachment to a port on the handgun's trigger guard, beneath the laser targeter, and fitted the small dart inside. He could not afford to miss this shot.

Below him, the guard was speaking into his radio. Farther below, the train was just leaving the terminal. Floor forty-one went by in a blur as Madouc flicked on the targeting laser. The timing had to be perfect for this- Madouc aimed at the base of the elevator car below, took a deep breath, and felt the moment come. He pressed the button on the metallic launcher, and the dart flew out, bursting through the glass of his car and into the guard's, sinking into the metal of the floor, and opening up four prongs- a grappling hook. Madouc let the wire trail out as he leapt from the cart, giving it slack. If he gave too much, the train would flatten him. If he gave too little, the line would pull taut before reaching the train's roof and he would slam against the side of the building. If the impact there didn't kill him, letting go of the cable would.

More cable trailed out from the pistol as Madouc swung forward, going the same direction as the train. He let a little more wire out until his feet could touch the roof. Running along it, he let more cable trail out and let go, just before the train turned a corner. Had he been holding on at the time, his arms would have flown from their sockets. The afternoon sun was just descending. The armored truck, carrying the prisoner for transfer, would arrive at the next stop in forty-five minutes. He would arrive in half an hour. He didn't intend to spend it on the roof. With a grunt, the weary man edged towards the seperation between two cars and slid in, opening a door and walking into the empty car. No one here- that was good. But getting to the prison was going to be the hardest part. Ninth Gate wasn't famous for its open doors and welcoming mood.

OOC:
Bump
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OOC: Bump...

The Clerics had got to the elevator now and had guessed what had happened. "He got away sir!" one of the Clerics near Swizex said to him. Swizex had regained a lot of his strength and pulled away from the other Clerics, edging towards the elevator himself now.

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The guards arrived outside the station. They pulled out their pistols and ran towards the main doors. They had lost contact with the guards in the area and had been informed of gunfire in the area.

Captain Gibbs was leading the men in a charging stance when they got close. Thirty men was the first wave to burst through the door.

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The Clerics were in the main hall when they saw the doors open.

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Gibbs saw the situation. The bloodbath, the Clerics, the hatred flowing through his veins. How could they do this? "Open fire!!!" he shouted. It was his last words, as a bullet came flying from a Clerics gun into his skull.

His death seemed to inspire the guards. They fired on the Clerics as Gibbs ordered. The Clerics were overrun, but they were more skilled. Bullets were firing in all directions, many would die this day.

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Swizex had hit the button of the elevator, and it headed up. If he had left it a second later, he would be in the same fight downstairs.

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Triston radioed the guard HQ from in the middle of the battle. "This is officer Triston of Sector Eight Guards! Need help! Being fired at, many casualties!"

"Who is firing on you Triston?"

"Clerics! there is a big situation down at Sect8 Station! We will be needing all we can get"

"Come again. Who is firing?"

"Clerics! Get down hear!"

It begun.

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OOC - Viva la revolution! Is that okay. I don't want to change your country if u dont want me too.

Bump Bump Bump Bump Bump Bump Bump Bump Bump Bump Bump Bump
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OOC - Viva la revolution! Is that okay. I don't want to change your country if u dont want me too.

OOC: I enjoyed that, yeah. But the effects are huge. So keep the fighting up, but way I see it, the Prophets are going to slaughter the guards that saw this, remove all connections, sever all witnesses from the outside world (and their heads) and give the clerics a slap on the hand. They're cool characters, they wouldn't have the country be overrun. But keep it up. Keep it contained (as in don't have people seeing it on the news) but y'know.

IC: The train neared the station, Madouc watching the cityscape flow by. He lay down and looked over the car. How odd, that, in the largest city of a nation where everything was business, everything a blur- that this one car should be completely empty. Something was vaguely suspicious about it.

The walls slipped by and disappeared from view. The skyscrapers were gone for now, leaving only the open space between buildings. Madouc was enjoying the view less and less when a guard stepped in, hand on his pistol. Madouc reached into his scarlet cloak. The guard was young- a rookie- Madouc couldn't kill him. He had taken enough life on this day. He hoped he did not have to pull the trigger.
"You are Madouc. The fugitive. I know you," the guard said, tense but not quite afraid. Was he going to make an arrest, or not?
"You're running from the clerics, are you not?"
Madouc nodded slowly, piercing eyes on the guard.
"Is it true you were once a guard?"
Madouc again nodded, slowly: "I still am. Aging. And of course, I was on leave this week."
The guard nearly smiled, but he was drawn back into being tense.
"You don't have to worry about us. Something happened in the station this train left from."
"What are you talking about?"
"Captain Gibbs and his men were slaughtered by a bunch of clerics. They shoot what moves, you know. Everyone is a threat. And the building you were in- they mowed down a lot of bystanders."
Madouc hung his head, unable to meet the young man's glare. His fault. All his fault. If only that sword had hit him, so many would have been spared.
"It wasn't your fault. We know of what has happened. We know where you will go. Ninth Gate. Where Yyrkoon worked. Hell on earth. I am right?"
Madouc looked up, nodded.
"Yes. You have too much to live for to give up now. Too many people. Until you reach Ninth Gate- no cleric will touch you."

The chief of the guards in eighth sector ran out of his office when he got the message.

"Get all the guards to the station! I don't care if they are off duty!" He shouted to the crowded room of office workers. They did exactly as he said. All of them grabbed radios and started giving orders to the men on the street as others manned the phones.

As the chief turned to the armory to see fellow guards loading up, he felt a sharp pain in his back. He quickly darted his head in that direction and found himself staring at a group of Clerics.

As he fell, gunshots were heard all over the room. The guards were no match. He should have turned a blind eye and left the station alone, now all the guards in the sector were going to suffer

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The guards and the Clerics were still fighting in the station. As more and more guards seemed to arrive at the scene. Blood was actually flowing out of the front doors now. And the Clerics looked like they were far from running out of bullets.

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Swizex knew where his prey was heading. He had figured him out; he would be going to the prison. It began there, it would be suitable to finish there. Swizex had pulled two new pistols from the Cleric who carried him. He was ready, and who knows, Maybe I could make Prophet for this kill

"Sector Eight has been massacred."
The news hit Madouc like a ton of bricks. He had spent the last few minutes gearing up, taking every weapon that could be given to him. He was surrounded by guards ready to protect him. Outside, clerics and guards were waging war. Around him, more guards were cursing.
"Damn clerics..."
"The bastards- the goddamned bastards!"
Anger ran hot in the train car. The officers kept weapons cases in the trains- Lictoria wasn't famous for leaving anything to chance. They were their own small army, and every train in the district had filled up with convert rebels. When the news came that the Prophets were doing nothing, the last straw had been pulled. Now, the guards were organizing, leaving behind their badges and their positions, waging war in the streets, in the tunnels, in the buildings.

The young guard approached Madouc again.
"You will get free passage to Ninth Gate. When the train arrives, we will see to it that you board that armored car without incident, and that the gates are wide open for you."

Swizex jumped out the window of the station on the second floor and onto a armoured van outside. One of the guards He looked around at the bodies and the blood. The fighting was nearly over here, the Clerics had won, the guards were pulling out as fast as they could.

The van Swizex was on suddenly started and he found himself clinging on for dear life as it sped out the sector, followed by several jet black cars, two Clerics in each. Swizex was going to jump off until he noticed where they were heading. Towards his prey

The train noiselessly slid into the station, and Madouc stepped out, head lowered, covered from all angles by guards. Only one cleric would be guarding this transfer, as opposed to twelve guards posted in this station, two in the front seat of the armored car, and four in the back. And of course, Ninth Gate was more than well-protected. Madouc knew who they were transferring. It made him sick just thinking about it.

"The clerics will have already left by now. They may be just starting, halfway, or right outside the building's door, for all we know. But the cleric watching this transfer may not know about the fighting yet," the young guard said.
"Of course, he's still a threat," Madouc replied.
"Yes. We hoped you had a plan."
"I was kind of hoping that I would get lucky and be able to shoot him."
"Yes... care to revise that?" the young guard said, pointing to the cleric himself, pacing between two pillars, checking for threats.
The man was a monster, six foot six or seven, at least two hundred fifty pounds, with two cleric pistols holstered, a shotgun barely visible beneath his snowy-white cloak, and a gilded SR-21 bullpup rifle in his arms. By the way he carried himself, the way he looked around, the way he held the gun- a trained eye could see him as a professional.
"I'm screwed," Madouc said, and felt for his pistol.

Swizex and the van had made it to the ninth sector. Guards were at the entrance and opened fire when they saw it. Swizex looked at the situation What are they doing firing on their own?

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The van driver saw the situation. The guards at the entrance to Ninth Gate had set up a road block and Clerics were positioned around. "Shit! Clerics! Hold on everyone, this is going to be a bumpy ride"

Instead of stopping the driver put his foot down on the gas peddle.

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"When they stop, open fire. They are now enemies of the state"

"They don't look like they’re stopping sir"

"Don’t worry, they wont take us all on!"

"Sir, they are getting pretty close"

"They will hit the brake any second"

"Sir! I don't think..."

"Trust me"

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Moments later, the van slammed into the black squad cars, they flew backwards as the guards around them ducked wherever they could and continued firing. The driver in the van let the adrenaline get the best of him "Wooooo Ha!!!" He shouted at the second car flew back into a Cleric loading a weapon.

The van slammed into another two road blocks. It was not in a good shape, but they had made it alive and they were still running. As it went into the distance, the guards and Clerics stood back up and started firing at the back of them.

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They were still busy firing when another couple of jet black cars, filled with Clerics came flying by. Some found themselves jumping out the way again as the Cleric's cars now slammed into the road blocks.

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Swizex smiled; He was only a few miles away from Ninth Gate.

The cleric looked over at Madouc, paused, and reached for his radio. Madouc smiled and waved like a little schoolgirl. The cleric had taken the radio from his belt when suddenly his body went rigid. His helmet was lifted and thrown over into a dark corner of the station, where he was pulled, slowly, by four guards. He was opening a mouth to scream when the guards pulled the combat knife out and shoved it back in, behind the ear, in the area of the body affectionately referred to as Death's Door. Nerves and brain cells were severed as the knife twisted around. The cleric still somehow fought, but a second knife slit his throat, and a third plunged into his right temple and slashed deep, then his left, and finally was thrust into the crown of his head, cracking his skull and driving deep into his brain. By that time, though- he was already dead. Now it was time to get to Ninth Gate.

OOC - Sorry, I thought that you were already in 9th gate, oh and I was thinking maybe Madouc could turn into convict 646, in some odd way lol

OOC - Sorry, I thought that you were already in 9th gate, oh and I was thinking maybe Madouc could turn into convict 646, in some odd way lol

OOC: Sorry for being confusing there. No, I'm not at Ninth Gate. I didn't quite understand your posts with the van and the cars and all that, I should've said something. And Madouc as 646? Maybe not him, but Madouc could make a cameo. 646 already has an identity, but good idea.

ooc - Oh sorry, well Swizex is in Ninth Gate with a load of guards who are escaping. You continue the plot and Swizex will be waiting when you get there.

Ninth Gate- the hardest time there was. In its history, not a single prisoner had escaped. Fifty had tried- twenty of which made it over the first fence, which was topped by razor wire- before being shot down by snipers in the guard towers. Twelve made it to the second fence, which was electrified. Three made it past that, only to be either blasted apart by remote-detonated land mines or run through by guard bullets.
The black, concrete ground, reinforced with a grid of steel wiring to prevent tunneling, had reflective light strips placed on it at consistent intervals- not to guide the van in, but to serve as rangefinders for the hundreds of guards watching, rifles in hand, up high in the towers.
Everyone was trying to bust out of Ninth Gate. And here I am trying to get in, Madouc thought as the van moved silently along the road.

ooc - Damn, sorry I was confused, I thought 9th Gate was a sector or something. It’s the prison itself. Changed post now.

ic - The van flew through ninth sector to get away from the chasing Clerics. Swizex saw his chance and jumped onto a nearby wall. Once he had got his balance and he was on his feet, he looked around. Ninth Gate here I come

Clerics were trained in every possible aspect of urban combat. They were the special operations teams of every major metropolitan area in the whole of the nation. They were city-based guerilla fighters, with a full-scale military arsenal and training. Their battleground was the streets, the skyscrapers, and the alleys. They were trained to combat urban armies. They were taught to be warriors in the passenger seat, the art of moving between buildings unseen, how to use the sewer as an entrance to any location, what parts of a skyscraper you could use explosives in without risk of collapse. Their war was a different kind of war.

And another advantage the clerics had was the art of understanding car-to-car firefights. They were taught every possible offensive and defensive driving technique they could be. They knew how to weave in and out of traffic with flawless maneuverability, how to psychologically dissect a driver by the way he turned, the way he swerved. They knew how to coax a driver into taking that one fatal turn that led to that one fatal roadblock, bristling with weaponry. Driving a vehicle was so natural to them, so smooth and simple, that the wheels soon seemed like extensions of their own bodies. And of course, accuracy while going at a hundred and twenty miles per hour was key.

The left side mirror burst as a bullet punctured the glass and sent it into an explosion of reflective shards. The right followed, a single bullet, a single explosion. Because the back of the van was effectively an armored prison cell on wheels, no rear-view mirrors could be used. However, there were three small cameras mounted in different locations on the back, hidden from view so as not to be picked off. Clerics, however, knew this model. One view burst into static. The young guard driving switched to the next view just in time to see the flash of a muzzle, and then more static. By the time he made it to the third, it had already been taken out. The clerics had effectively blinded the van to what was behind it. The young guard, still a rookie, picked up the radio that linked to the loudspeaker:
"You are firing on officers of the law. This vehicle is the property of the state. Cease fire now, we are not hostiles!"

"All I can say," Madouc said aloud as the landscape went peacefully by in the night, "is that I feel a great swell of pity for the poor chap driving that van."

The guard driving was middle-aged, still in shape, with salt and pepper hair. He turned to Madouc.
"You should not. He volunteered to drive that van, even knowing that the clerics were after you. He volunteered originally expecting an escape attempt. He knows the risks."

Madouc had thought of the plan in the terminal. Upon hearing it, the guards had hurriedly explained to some other guards that were leaving from a shift at the station that they would be in need of the pair's car. The vehicle checked out like any other, while the armored van was occupied by two more guards to fight the clerics. As for the prisoner, a certain man convicted of rebellion against the empire, he was put in the back of the car in handcuffs- before being unlocked, given a basic bulletproof vest, and a pair of Desert Eagle XIX's.

From the files, the prisoner was quite a good shot- he had brought down five clerics in a riot with nothing more than a revolver. He had come damn near close to killing a prophet once, were it not for a lone cleric that spotted, by some luck, the brief reflection of sunlight off of his sniper rifle. The cleric gladly took the bullet. Even his armor wasn't enough to save him. The rebel had been arrested, and slashed on the cheek by a knife just for brutality- in an X-like pattern. He was aching for some revenge.

Meanwhile, Madouc was speeding along the road in a squad car, about to find the sewer that led into a single tunnel, which was blocked off a mere fifty yards away from the entrance to Ninth Gate. Getting in wouldn't be easy. But it wouldn't be as hard as facing the mass of clerics that had reportedly just begun setting up roadblocks around Ninth Gate.

The car came to a stop, and the guard turned to Madouc and nodded. They were here- the manhole in front of them like an open front door.

OOC: *sighs* Bump, bump.... bumpity bump- BUMP! BUMP! Bump bump, bumpbumpbumpbumpbump, bump- BUMPITY!

-Taken from William Shatner's "Bump!"

OOC: The Age of the Bump begins... anew.

OOC: ...bump...

OOC: Dear God! This thread is starting to be composed more and more of bumps! Bump levels are too damn high! Enough of the bumpage!

OOC: *becomes pissed* Bummmmmmmmp....

OOC: 'Kay. It's over.

IC: Madouc looked at the young guard and decided he didn't like him, so he shot him in the face. Then the prisoner guy shot Madouc and then he shot himself. And then Swizex decided that his job sucked ass so he gave an elephant five hundred bars of choco-lax and perched behind its butt and waited until it eventually paid off and he was suffocated under a mound of elephant dung.