Post by Major Xeno on Feb 13, 2012 1:25:10 GMT -5
Been bouncing this idea off the wall for a little while, wrote most of it in one stupid day, 29 hours awake. It's a Saints Row 2 Crossover, with the Boss (the normal Protagonist) dead, so I tossed in Revan and Shepard. Enjoy.
Xxxx
“Did you hear? Playa is alive!”
“Bullshit! Really?”
“Playa must’ve been in a coma since that explosion on the yacht, ‘cuz I heard one of the guards telling another one about it!”
“Shit, that’s great news!”
Xxxx
Two guards regarded the full body cast in the dim and low-lit ICU, a lactated vitamin IV drip connecting to the cast’s neck. The female doctor in the corner groaned at the guards’ presence. She was the only one who fully understood the support that the patient was receiving. The central line fed directly into the jugular vein, and while the ventilator was removed little over ten minutes before, the IV line was staying in until the exact minute it had to come out.
“Well, what do we do?”
“I say just riddle the cast with bullets and dump the body in the water.”
Looking up from where she worked carefully on inspecting the patient’s recovery, the attending doctor glared at the guard who had spoken.
“My patient is not to be touched!” she snapped. While the patient was a murdering psychopathic criminal, the doctor took her Hippocratic oath to help people, not kill them the minute they recovered from a long coma. It was astonishing that her patient had recovered at all, really. Being too close to an explosion and surviving was one thing, recovering from a multiple year coma is an entirely different feat.
The bright white ICU was sterile and clean, of course, but the doctor could almost imagine a layer of grime that had been added to the walls from the guard’s statement.
“Doc, if this bitch recovers, then who knows what she’ll do to Stilwater.”
“Bastard, Marty. Bastard.”
“Ah, fuck off.”
“This discussion is irrelevant, gentlemen,” the blond doctor barked, crossing her arms and standing over her patient. “You are not harming my patient.”
The guards looked at each other, exchanging a glance. The younger white guard sighed, and moved to leave the infirmary, but the black guard shook his head and approached the doctor.
“Sorry Doc, just remembering all the friends this bastard-” venomous glare “-bitch cost me.”
“It’s all right, but remember, we have to be better than these criminals.”
“Of course, doc. Of course…”
WHACK
The doctor slumped to the ground, the guard standing over her.
“What the hell, man?”
“Shut up and give me that syringe.”
“Why?”
“Air embolism. No drugs, just like overdose, only with air. It’ll be hard to prove it was us, especially if we explain our reasons to the autopsy doc, and pull the tapes. Sadly, this means that the poor doc here will lose her job from malpractice, but if that means that the hitman of the Third Street Saints is dead, then it’s for a good cause.”
“But it isn’t a needle syringe.”
“It’s not supposed to be. They stopped using needle syringes for most operations over ten years ago. Just screw it in to the IV drip.”
“Big syringe, you sure we need this much?”
“Yeah, at least sixty cc’s of air, one burst. Messes up the heart, or something. Air pressure messes with the lung’s oxygen mix, and heart can’t pump the blood properly, I think.”
Xxxx
“Bored, bored, bor-ed-y boooooreeeeeddd.” droned a guard, leaning against the railing of his watchtower. His rifle, normally slung over his shoulder, now rested against the railing as well. He’d been here three hours now, and was really looking forward to his shift being over. Meanwhile, his partner scowled from where he was nursing a cup of coffee next to the radio set.
“Shut up Earl.”
“It’s too goddamn booooriiing…” Earl moaned.
“Yeah, and what would make this more interesting?”
Bob’s question stumped Earl.
“A… riot?” Earl replied slowly.
“Exactly, Earl. And what would a riot mean?”
“People trying to kill us?”
“YES, Earl. Now just imagine how lucky we are right now, to have nobody trying to kill us.”
“Well, I suppose that is pretty ni-”
CRAKFWHAKOOM
“What in God’s name-?”
“Incoming! Incoming!”
Bob slapped the alarm, and Earl ducked behind his railing. Outside the tower, sirens shrieked and blared as a blinding comet descended from the sky.
“It’s a meteor Bob! We’re all gonna die!”
“Shut up Earl! Shut up!”
Ears deafened as the comet roared past the tower, Bob barely had time to drop and cover his eyes before he was blinded. The heat blistered his skin, reddening it, and he felt like he was being roasted alive. Earl was closer than he was, and his screams choked off abruptly, as his skin cracked with immense dehydration. Poor guy had probably suffered third degree burns, while Bob might get off with just a first degree.
“Watchtower Eight, respond!”
Bob reached up for the mike, but swore as the hot metal of the table met his hand. Jumping up, Bob snatched the mike with his other hand, his gaze hunting through the sudden darkness for whatever the hell that comet was. Dimly, Bob remembered that the annual meteor shower was supposed to be a couple of days late this year, or absent altogether.
“Eight here, we’ve got a man down!”
“Roger, Eight. What was the light?”
“I don’t know, some kind a meteor or something! Burned up Earl, and… holdup, I think I see something in the water!”
“Understood, we’re sending out the boats now. You think it might’ve been the prisoners?”
“No, the angle was descending from above, not arching from the ground.”
“Okay. Base out.”
Bob dropped the corded mike and raced outside, rolling Earl over carefully. Just like he’d thought, Earl would have some nasty burns. Poor bastard might not even survive. The heat had been intense, but only Earl’s side was burned, due to the way he’d instinctively dove. Half of his face was utterly destroyed, but the other half looked fine.
Heat, not fire, was the next thing Bob noticed. Earl’s clothes weren’t on fire, and while the grass on the ground was smoking and a little burnt, no blaze had sprung up. Moving his eyes beyond the ground, Bob found the LZ of whatever-it-was, about thirty yards out in the water. Steam was rising up like a sauna, and Bob’s eyes widened. He may’ve only been a prison guard, but he knew that for the ocean to steam like that meant that thing had to have come in pretty damn hot.
The ambulance’s tire’s squealed as it roared up to the tower, and Bob rushed over to put Earl on the stretcher. They needed to get him to the helipad now. As Bob helped the EMT’s slide the stretcher into the ambulance, they also shoved him in the ambulance over his protests. They sat him down in a chair and started applying burn cream, whilst a water bottle was thrust into his hand. He drained it in one long swig, realizing just how thirsty he was. The instant he tossed the empty bottle into a trash bin, another was forced into his palm. The adrenaline from the impact started to wear off, and Bob swore at the pain, then stopped when he stretched his dehydrated skin.
As he looked out the back window, boats swarmed over to the spot where the object had landed, divers hopping off their boats immediately while guards with AR-40s stood sentinel over the scene.
Xxxx
In the chaos, the center courtyard of the prison lay empty, the prisoners in their cells for the night. Two lone guards watched, from opposing towers, while their comrades were pulled away to deal with the UFO.
As the guard in the northwest tower scanned the empty yard for the twentieth time, he noticed a small neon blue-white string, dancing back and forth around a small circle. As he watched, it grew and shrank, pulsing rapidly.
“Tower Two to Tower Three, you seeing that?”
“Three, Two. Seeing what?”
“Bright blue light thing, near the hoops.”
“What the hell is that? Electrical charge?”
“From what?”
Before the stunned guards’ eyes, the thin little line grew, spinning and whirling to blot out a spot in their vision.
The guard in the northwest tower jumped back, looking away and rubbing at his eyes. A white spot appeared, his eyes temporarily blinded.
“Holy shit, there’s somebody on fire down there!”
“Base, this is Tower Two, we have someone on fire in the courtyard.”
“Understood, Two, we’re dispatching what reserves we have to assist. Move in and investigate, over.”
“Aye aye sir.”
Xxxx
Back at the UFO’s landing spot, divers entered the now-warm water, flashlights piercing the darkness to reveal the cooling hunk of metal that had blasted past watchtower eight.
“Choppers are reporting a heat signature down there, inside the object. Hard to tell, but it looks like a man.”
A double click of the microphone read acknowledgement, the divers moving in.
“Signature is shedding heat fast, get him out of there.”
Xxxx
“Base, Courtyard. Body is female, looks twenties, arm was on fire. Fire’s out now, but this lady needs to get to the infirmary, so I’m taking her down now.”
He hesitated.
“Also, this lady is in what looks like some kind of armor, weird, like futuristic looking shit. Maybe it’s some kind of R&D thing, but whatever it is, it’s been slagged by the heat.”
“…Copy, Courtyard. We’ll look into it.”
What the hell is Ultor doing now? is the unspoken question.
Xxxx
“Got a patient for you doc!” the guard called as he wheeled a gurney into the infirmary. There is no response to his call, and after parking the gurney in the corner, the guard looks around the corner, wondering where the doc is.
Head against the wall, the doc is curled into a ball in the corner, unconscious, when the guard finds her. Surprised, the guard shakes her shoulder, but she didn’t wake.
“Johnson, it’s Cray. Doctor Keller is unconscious, can you wake up Doctor Fraser?”
“Repeat, Keller’s unconscious?”
“Yeah, don’t know how, but she’s out like a light. Even if I get her up, we’ve got four injured people, and more might be incoming.”
“Damn. All right, I’ll get Fraser. Try to wake her up, though, that UFO had somebody in it, and he took a little dip.”
“Okay, Cray out.”
The guard turned back to the unconscious doctor, mind racing to figure out just how to awaken the doctor. Water would do, he settled, and splashed her face with a cup of water. When that didn’t work, quick slaps to the face followed, and the now-spluttering and confused doctor finally surfaced.
“Doc! We’ve got a burn victim, with first and second degree burns on her left arm, two more burn victims, one with vicious third degree and the other with first degree. There’s also somebody trapped underwater that divers are pulling out now, condition unknown.”
“Alright, help me up.” Keller demanded, one hand to her head. She groaned a little as the guard yanked her to her feet, but shook it off and charged over to the gurney holding the female burn victim. She started methodically categorizing and gauging the second she saw the woman’s burnt left arm. Miraculously, the fire didn’t spread to the other body parts, stopping roughly along the upper arm, just past the meat of the bicep.
In addition, Keller was astonished to discover what appeared to be normal skin along the patient’s chest and face, as if the normal dehydration caused by burns was completely absent. Oh, yes, the section of her arm and shoulder that had evaded the fire was still dehydrated, but it was as if the heat that sucked moisture out of the skin just stopped at this clear line along where the shoulder met the torso. Complications along the interior of the arm had yet to be determined, but Keller doubted that there would be any at all.
Burn cream was applied quickly and liberally, but the patient looked to be fine. In for a hell of a recovery, sure, but the burn wasn’t life threatening, seeing as the guards had reacted quickly and put out the fire before it could spread or do any real damage. Keller finished off her analysis and ordered the guard who had accompanied the patient to gently make her drink water, for the dehydration.
The patient could be shunted to the side though, as the gurneys containing two guards burst in through the doors. One guard was conscious and rattling over a detailed report to the Captain between swigs from water bottles, but the other looked like a cut of meat that had been left too long on the grill.
Skin was cracked and red, the tiny gaps where the body had started rationing water were evident. Keller was bewildered at the burns themselves though. One half of the man’s face was burnt, but the other half was fine, other than the dehydration. It wasn’t quite a perfect division down the bridge of the nose. The burns must be from a fast flash of heat, then, Keller decided. If it was a longer, slower process, then the man’s other half of his face would be burned as well, if slightly less thoroughly.
Xxxx
“Doc, inmate got himself shanked, shiv to the gut.” the guard said as she wheeled in an orange-suited figure with a purple beanie. The inmate, as per her instructions, was already applying pressure to a swab of bandages. The guard pulled the gurney in past two curtained off sections and one gurney with a sheet over its inhabitant.
“Just… pull him in there.” the attending doctor ordered, his voice surprising the guard.
“Where’s Doctor Keller?” the guard asked, filling out a sheet with the prisoner’s name and injury.
“She’s asleep, exhausted herself. With one fatality, three major burn victims, and a slight case of the bends, I’d be dead on my feet too. Poor girl didn’t even find out about the death of her coma patient in the ICU until halfway through saving Earl Fergusson.”
The guard nodded, leaving the doctor to inspect the wounded prisoner.
“Look’s like guard Bishop here did a pretty good job, and there’s no internal bleeding or any complications, so I’d say just changing the bandages every couple hours and checking for complications is all we can do. Don’t move and get some rest, okay, son?”
The prisoner managed to nod, and managed to fall asleep.
Humming to himself, the doctor returned to his desk, taking stock of all the supplies used up by their new arrivals and filling out forms for more. Pain relievers, burn cream, massive amounts of bandages, and more were used up en masse, and Keller didn’t exactly have the time to note down precise amounts. The doctor buried himself in his work, and zoned out as he started taking count. Maybe now was a time to take advantage of that new MP3 player that his daughter abandoned for one barely a month newer.
As the doctor focused on his work, the most recent entry in the infirmary carefully took his weight off the gurney, wincing at the creaking before silently padding away.
A guard lay unconscious on his hospital bed, his side wrapped up in bandages and a small little nametag reading ‘Bob Smith.’ Carlos took a second to inspect him, but all he could tell was that the dude had been burned, was probably awaiting transport to the hospital on a helicopter.
But he wasn’t here for the guard, and Carlos started moving again, walking slowly to avoid alerting the doctor.
Carlos softly lifted up the sheet draped over the last gurney, gazing sadly at the body of the one he had come to help. He hung his head, swearing rapidly and pounding his fist into his hand.
Dammit, the playa was supposed to be alive.
Well, as bad as it is, Carlos couldn’t linger on this shit for long. Stilwater may not be the best place to be, but its people grew up hard and tough, or they left. There was a reason not many children lived in the city, and why the most popular pets were Rottweilers.
But as he turned away to move back to his gurney, he stiffened, his eyes going wide as he gestured frantically for silence.
A single eyebrow quirked, the goateed occupant of another gurney propped himself up on an elbow, regarding Carlos with a frown. A well-groomed goatee and military close cut of hair matched his rugged, yet striking features. His tanned skin bore scars, but they didn’t look like any knife or bullet wounds that Carlos had ever seen before, more like burns.
“Friend?” the man asked quietly, pointing a thumb at the other bed.
Carlos nodded, still holding up his finger to his lips.
“He can’t hear us.”
“So, who’re you then?”
“Revan.”
“Oh, a tough motherfucker, are you?” Carlos quipped, picking up a chair and starting to move over to the doctor. But before he could club the doctor over the head, the chair disappeared from his grip. Shocked, Carlos turned, but all he saw was the man from the gurney, holding the chair one handed with an expression of mild annoyance.
“Don’t bother.” Revan dismissed, letting go of the chair, which smashed to the ground in a clatter. Carlos jumped at the sound, but the doctor didn’t even notice. Carlos went to smack the man and tell him to shut up, but when he turned to face him, the tall, muscular man had vanished.
A slight thud from behind startled Carlos, causing him to pivot. The doctor lay on the ground, the goateed man left extending a hand into the air.
“Did you just…”
“Simple knock out.” Revan said, before rummaging through the medicinal cabinets. “So why’re you here?”
“Huh? Oh, to get him out.” Carlos answered, moving back to the covered gurney, looking down at the obscured body with disappointment.
“Friend?” Revan asked for the second time, as he started pulling pill bottles and retrieving scalpels.
“Nah, didn’t even know him.” Carlos admitted. “Dude was the best banger in the Saints.”
“The Saints?” Revan probed, as he finished up making a makeshift pack.
“The 3rd Street Saints, the gang that used to run this city. Hey, where you going?”
The corner of Revan’s mouth twitched.
“I’m not staying. I don’t know where I am, why I’m being held, or where all my stuff went. So, you coming?”
Carlos scrambled over to Revan, a smile spreading full force.
“You kidding? Of course I want to go! Hell, that’s why I got myself shanked in the first place. I wanted to break him out of here, but the rumor of him surviving was apparently wrong. Plus, the breakout I got planned is a two man job.”
“Well, count me in.” the curtain shot back with a rattle as the inhabitant of the last bed spoke up. Carlos and Revan caught a glimpse of burned flesh before the lady swaddled up her left arm in bandages, very gently. When the lady turned back to face the two men, the flash of pain from her burn was gone, replaced by a jovial smirk. A slim blonde beauty greeted them, her hair in a tiny ponytail. Carlos’s eyes were drawn to a few odd scars that didn’t look like any bullet or knife wounds he’d ever seen, and he instinctively shivered.
“The name’s Shepard.”
“You gonna slow us down with that arm?” Revan questioned, passing over another roll of bandages to Shepard. She nodded her thanks and stuffed the roll in a pocket.
“Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time I fought one handed. Just get me a gun.”
Revan shook his head, gesturing at the lack of weapons.
“We need to get my gear first.” Revan ordered, stabbing a pen through the sleeves of his jumpsuit before ripping them off.
“I don’t know where they keep any of your stuff, sorry. Best bet would be the armory, but that’s not anywhere near where we’d be headed with my escape plan.”
“I’ll meet up with you later.”
Carlos opened his mouth to protest, but Revan had already kicked open the metal doors and walked straight out.
“Hey! Loco motherfucker, don’t go, that’s suicide!”
“That’s ballsy,” Shepard corrected, before yanking on Carlos’s arm and tugging him out the back door. “But that doesn’t mean that we have to follow him, so let’s get out of here.”
Xxxx
It’s odd. Revan reflected as he kicked off the wall, smashing the unaware guard in the back of the head with a flying sidekick. The man collapsed against the floor as the prisoners in the mess hall finally noticed and started cheering. Revan swore as the noise from the prisoners alerted the next set of guards. They turned and had barely turned when a flying knee caught the left guard in the face. The guard on the right jumped back, but couldn’t dodge anymore, as Revan tumbled off of the first guard and tackled him. They hit the ground with a thud; the guard already squirming as Revan rained blows down upon the defenseless guard.
A moment later, the guard joined his companion in unconsciousness as Revan jumped back up and sprinted off.
The Force is odd here… like it’s smaller.
An arm twisted, flipping to its furthest extension, before an open palm snapped it. Legs buckled back and broke as snap-kicks blew out kneecaps.
He could still manipulate the Force, but it wasn’t coming to him as easily. Feats like summoning lightning or pushing someone were now beyond his reach. Revan felt like he couldn’t even use the most basic of telekinetic powers. He could still sense, but that particular skill was always more in the line of experience, of having faced enough to know just what each individual signal and sign meant.
But while his usual abilities could detect a sentient life form up to half a kilometer away, right now he could barely sense the guard thirty meters away, despite the fact he could see him perfectly well.
Despite that limitation in range however, once within that range, he could still detect intentions and surface thoughts, and Revan rolled to the side, as he knew that the guard would open fire with his pistol.
If he really had to guess, the Force wasn’t muddled or disturbed, it was just smaller. Without how much of the Force that was usually available, he doubted that anyone in this place could have learned to use or even detect it.
So why could he still detect the Force, even slightly?
Xxxx
“You sure you’re okay with one arm all charred up like that?”
“Hey! Sto-”
WHACK
“Does that answer your question?”
Carlos shrugged, as Shepard tugged the pistol from the guard’s grip. She thumbed the magazine release, but looked startled when it dropped out and hit the ground.
“No thermal clip?” she examined, surprised.
“ ‘The hell’s a thermal clip?” Carlos replied, tossing a couple new magazines at her. Carlos had to give her props, despite her astonishment, she still caught the magazines effortlessly, slapping one in with instinctive ease.
“Are you telling me that we’re using chem weapons here?” Shepard snapped, grunting with effort as she clambered up the last air duct, leaving the slight ventilated comfort of the maintenance shaft for the bone-numbing chill of the windy prison roof.
“This way!” Carlos called, gesturing towards the fire escape. “We can talk later, we gotta move before they get the helicopters airborne!”
Shepard agreed, but Carlos had already hopped the last fence and was rattling down the fire escape at full speed. Sirens blaring for the second time that night, harsh floodlights snapping on and causing Shepard and Carlos to squint. Carlos’s eyes widened in shock at the sheer number of sirens and lights flashing up, as police cars roared up from what he guessed was the guard barracks down the road.
“Damn, they got the choppers up already!”
A final drop, down onto a closed dumpster lid, while Carlos opened fire on the first police cruiser, thirty yards away.
“You’re thinking too small, Carlos.” Shepard teased, as she fired. Carlos went to ask what she meant, when the sky fell. The police chopper plummeted, crushing a couple cars as it blocked off the rest of the cruisers, at least for a little while. The guards cried out as they fell, tumbling out of the helicopter and smashing into the hard concrete with wet smacks, as Shepard nonchalantly strode towards the cars, as if this was nothing.
Shepard scooped up one of the guard’s rifles, slinging it around her shoulder before stripping the man’s vest of its ammo. Two mags went in each pocket, then Shepard went back to her pistol. Carlos snatched up the other rifle, wincing at the odd angles of the dead guard’s legs.
“Where’s Revan?” Carlos called, as he went full-auto on a cruiser, stitching its hood with bullets, while Shepard carefully took out the drivers of another.
SMASH
Carlos looked up, swearing as a shower of glass and one very dead guard came flying out of one of the few windows in the complex, maybe a break room or something. His eyes widened further when a dark figure jumped out after the man, a hail of bullets accompanying him.
No way! Carlos thought, stunned, as Revan fell two stories, hitting the concrete, his landing obscured by the burnt husk of a police cruiser. Walking over, Revan joined them, his own rifle in his hands and two more on his back, as well as a fierce scowl mounted on his face.
“Problems?” Shepard asked, getting in the back of the police cruiser.
“Needed to get my gear.” Revan answered, his tone harsh.
Carlos hopped in the passenger seat while Revan took the wheel, tossing aside the corpse there like it was just meat. Revan stared at the wheel for a minute, before jumping back out of the car.
“You drive.”
Carlos shifted over to the drivers seat clumsily, while Revan went around and hopped into the passenger seat, bashing out the window with his rifle so he could fire out of it.
“What took so long? Couldn’t find the evidence locker?” Shepard asked.
“No, they moved my gear, nothing left.” Revan scowled.
The car roared to life quickly, and by the time more police cruisers came speeding up the hill, Carlos was already shooting past them, going straight for the docks.
“Gate.” Revan noted.
“I see it, I see it.” Carlos replied, smashing the fences open with the reinforced grill of the cruiser.
“We’re going get a boat.” Revan said, and Carlos noticed how he didn’t seem to be asking.
“Go for the far one, a buddy of mine got a guard to put some weapons and money in there.” Carlos shouted from the dockside, as Revan jumped down to the dock.
Carlos found the boat already prepped, while Shepard quickly showed Revan how to reload the LMG that they found resting inside the boat.
“What is it with this technology?” Revan muttered, as Shepard connected the ammo box. “Who uses solid-shot weapons any more?”
“Well,” Shepard shrugged, racking back the bolt and handing over the rifle. “I don’t know about you and your time, but where I’m from, this matches the tech we had about two hundred years ago. Chem-fired bullets instead of mass effect fields, gas-powered engines, wheeled cars. What about your time?”
“The ability to travel across the galaxy in a week.” Revan said. “Technology you can’t even dream of.”
“Nice try buddy, but- Choppers! Ten o’clock!” Shepard snapped into combat mode, spotting targets for Revan as the guards finally caught up to them.
Revan sprayed bullets across the helicopters, missing more than half of his shots as the boat launched over waves and the helicopters dodged.
“Short bursts, one second on the trigger at most!” Shepard instructed, as a wave crashed over the wheelhouse, drenching them. Inside, Carlos struggled to get the boat in closer. If he could get closer to the shore, passing the under the bridges, he might be able to lose the cops by getting to the old fish warehouse where the Samedi ran some of their operations. He still knew a couple guys who ran security there, and they’d distract the cops while they vanished into the city.
The choppers took forever to shoot down, but after destroying two more, no more seemed to appear. Sheppard supposed that after a certain point, the cops just didn’t want to waste any more hardware on three escaped prisoners.
That boded ill, she thought. Honest cops would be pissed off when they lost their buddies, and would only chase them all the harder. Shepard supposed that having a police force that was more than a little corrupt and used to losses was good for them, as they were currently on the run, but what did that mean for the city’s crime?
Well, Carlos was trying to bust out his friend; some hotshot from the most notorious gang in this city, Stilwater was it?
Xxxx
“Gracias amigo.” Carlos said, bumping fists with his friend. The odor of fish guts wafted over him as the sun broke out over the city, and Carlos figured that, all in all, it had been a pretty good night.
Shepard was leaning on the wall over by the gate, her arm still bandaged. Carlos had to say she looked pretty good. Her face wasn’t supermodel materiel, but it was beautiful enough, and that absolute confidence she had was only helping things, though sometimes it scared him.
She didn’t seem like a criminal, but what else got a person to the point where she could waste a dozen men and think nothing of it? She definitely wasn’t a cop, too at ease with breaking the law for that. Only option left was military, and that put Carlos off like nothing else. Shepard fit the elite, black ops mindset way too well, and that weird comment of hers during the breakout just bugged him.
Oh well, he thought. It’s not they’d be meeting again after this. He was getting back to his old life as fast as he could. Move forward or die; that was the Stilwater way.
“So, how do we find these Third Street Saints?” Revan asked, uncrossing his arms as they left the pier.
"What Saints?" Carlos returned bitterly.
Xxxx
“Did you hear? Playa is alive!”
“Bullshit! Really?”
“Playa must’ve been in a coma since that explosion on the yacht, ‘cuz I heard one of the guards telling another one about it!”
“Shit, that’s great news!”
Xxxx
Two guards regarded the full body cast in the dim and low-lit ICU, a lactated vitamin IV drip connecting to the cast’s neck. The female doctor in the corner groaned at the guards’ presence. She was the only one who fully understood the support that the patient was receiving. The central line fed directly into the jugular vein, and while the ventilator was removed little over ten minutes before, the IV line was staying in until the exact minute it had to come out.
“Well, what do we do?”
“I say just riddle the cast with bullets and dump the body in the water.”
Looking up from where she worked carefully on inspecting the patient’s recovery, the attending doctor glared at the guard who had spoken.
“My patient is not to be touched!” she snapped. While the patient was a murdering psychopathic criminal, the doctor took her Hippocratic oath to help people, not kill them the minute they recovered from a long coma. It was astonishing that her patient had recovered at all, really. Being too close to an explosion and surviving was one thing, recovering from a multiple year coma is an entirely different feat.
The bright white ICU was sterile and clean, of course, but the doctor could almost imagine a layer of grime that had been added to the walls from the guard’s statement.
“Doc, if this bitch recovers, then who knows what she’ll do to Stilwater.”
“Bastard, Marty. Bastard.”
“Ah, fuck off.”
“This discussion is irrelevant, gentlemen,” the blond doctor barked, crossing her arms and standing over her patient. “You are not harming my patient.”
The guards looked at each other, exchanging a glance. The younger white guard sighed, and moved to leave the infirmary, but the black guard shook his head and approached the doctor.
“Sorry Doc, just remembering all the friends this bastard-” venomous glare “-bitch cost me.”
“It’s all right, but remember, we have to be better than these criminals.”
“Of course, doc. Of course…”
WHACK
The doctor slumped to the ground, the guard standing over her.
“What the hell, man?”
“Shut up and give me that syringe.”
“Why?”
“Air embolism. No drugs, just like overdose, only with air. It’ll be hard to prove it was us, especially if we explain our reasons to the autopsy doc, and pull the tapes. Sadly, this means that the poor doc here will lose her job from malpractice, but if that means that the hitman of the Third Street Saints is dead, then it’s for a good cause.”
“But it isn’t a needle syringe.”
“It’s not supposed to be. They stopped using needle syringes for most operations over ten years ago. Just screw it in to the IV drip.”
“Big syringe, you sure we need this much?”
“Yeah, at least sixty cc’s of air, one burst. Messes up the heart, or something. Air pressure messes with the lung’s oxygen mix, and heart can’t pump the blood properly, I think.”
Xxxx
“Bored, bored, bor-ed-y boooooreeeeeddd.” droned a guard, leaning against the railing of his watchtower. His rifle, normally slung over his shoulder, now rested against the railing as well. He’d been here three hours now, and was really looking forward to his shift being over. Meanwhile, his partner scowled from where he was nursing a cup of coffee next to the radio set.
“Shut up Earl.”
“It’s too goddamn booooriiing…” Earl moaned.
“Yeah, and what would make this more interesting?”
Bob’s question stumped Earl.
“A… riot?” Earl replied slowly.
“Exactly, Earl. And what would a riot mean?”
“People trying to kill us?”
“YES, Earl. Now just imagine how lucky we are right now, to have nobody trying to kill us.”
“Well, I suppose that is pretty ni-”
CRAKFWHAKOOM
“What in God’s name-?”
“Incoming! Incoming!”
Bob slapped the alarm, and Earl ducked behind his railing. Outside the tower, sirens shrieked and blared as a blinding comet descended from the sky.
“It’s a meteor Bob! We’re all gonna die!”
“Shut up Earl! Shut up!”
Ears deafened as the comet roared past the tower, Bob barely had time to drop and cover his eyes before he was blinded. The heat blistered his skin, reddening it, and he felt like he was being roasted alive. Earl was closer than he was, and his screams choked off abruptly, as his skin cracked with immense dehydration. Poor guy had probably suffered third degree burns, while Bob might get off with just a first degree.
“Watchtower Eight, respond!”
Bob reached up for the mike, but swore as the hot metal of the table met his hand. Jumping up, Bob snatched the mike with his other hand, his gaze hunting through the sudden darkness for whatever the hell that comet was. Dimly, Bob remembered that the annual meteor shower was supposed to be a couple of days late this year, or absent altogether.
“Eight here, we’ve got a man down!”
“Roger, Eight. What was the light?”
“I don’t know, some kind a meteor or something! Burned up Earl, and… holdup, I think I see something in the water!”
“Understood, we’re sending out the boats now. You think it might’ve been the prisoners?”
“No, the angle was descending from above, not arching from the ground.”
“Okay. Base out.”
Bob dropped the corded mike and raced outside, rolling Earl over carefully. Just like he’d thought, Earl would have some nasty burns. Poor bastard might not even survive. The heat had been intense, but only Earl’s side was burned, due to the way he’d instinctively dove. Half of his face was utterly destroyed, but the other half looked fine.
Heat, not fire, was the next thing Bob noticed. Earl’s clothes weren’t on fire, and while the grass on the ground was smoking and a little burnt, no blaze had sprung up. Moving his eyes beyond the ground, Bob found the LZ of whatever-it-was, about thirty yards out in the water. Steam was rising up like a sauna, and Bob’s eyes widened. He may’ve only been a prison guard, but he knew that for the ocean to steam like that meant that thing had to have come in pretty damn hot.
The ambulance’s tire’s squealed as it roared up to the tower, and Bob rushed over to put Earl on the stretcher. They needed to get him to the helipad now. As Bob helped the EMT’s slide the stretcher into the ambulance, they also shoved him in the ambulance over his protests. They sat him down in a chair and started applying burn cream, whilst a water bottle was thrust into his hand. He drained it in one long swig, realizing just how thirsty he was. The instant he tossed the empty bottle into a trash bin, another was forced into his palm. The adrenaline from the impact started to wear off, and Bob swore at the pain, then stopped when he stretched his dehydrated skin.
As he looked out the back window, boats swarmed over to the spot where the object had landed, divers hopping off their boats immediately while guards with AR-40s stood sentinel over the scene.
Xxxx
In the chaos, the center courtyard of the prison lay empty, the prisoners in their cells for the night. Two lone guards watched, from opposing towers, while their comrades were pulled away to deal with the UFO.
As the guard in the northwest tower scanned the empty yard for the twentieth time, he noticed a small neon blue-white string, dancing back and forth around a small circle. As he watched, it grew and shrank, pulsing rapidly.
“Tower Two to Tower Three, you seeing that?”
“Three, Two. Seeing what?”
“Bright blue light thing, near the hoops.”
“What the hell is that? Electrical charge?”
“From what?”
Before the stunned guards’ eyes, the thin little line grew, spinning and whirling to blot out a spot in their vision.
The guard in the northwest tower jumped back, looking away and rubbing at his eyes. A white spot appeared, his eyes temporarily blinded.
“Holy shit, there’s somebody on fire down there!”
“Base, this is Tower Two, we have someone on fire in the courtyard.”
“Understood, Two, we’re dispatching what reserves we have to assist. Move in and investigate, over.”
“Aye aye sir.”
Xxxx
Back at the UFO’s landing spot, divers entered the now-warm water, flashlights piercing the darkness to reveal the cooling hunk of metal that had blasted past watchtower eight.
“Choppers are reporting a heat signature down there, inside the object. Hard to tell, but it looks like a man.”
A double click of the microphone read acknowledgement, the divers moving in.
“Signature is shedding heat fast, get him out of there.”
Xxxx
“Base, Courtyard. Body is female, looks twenties, arm was on fire. Fire’s out now, but this lady needs to get to the infirmary, so I’m taking her down now.”
He hesitated.
“Also, this lady is in what looks like some kind of armor, weird, like futuristic looking shit. Maybe it’s some kind of R&D thing, but whatever it is, it’s been slagged by the heat.”
“…Copy, Courtyard. We’ll look into it.”
What the hell is Ultor doing now? is the unspoken question.
Xxxx
“Got a patient for you doc!” the guard called as he wheeled a gurney into the infirmary. There is no response to his call, and after parking the gurney in the corner, the guard looks around the corner, wondering where the doc is.
Head against the wall, the doc is curled into a ball in the corner, unconscious, when the guard finds her. Surprised, the guard shakes her shoulder, but she didn’t wake.
“Johnson, it’s Cray. Doctor Keller is unconscious, can you wake up Doctor Fraser?”
“Repeat, Keller’s unconscious?”
“Yeah, don’t know how, but she’s out like a light. Even if I get her up, we’ve got four injured people, and more might be incoming.”
“Damn. All right, I’ll get Fraser. Try to wake her up, though, that UFO had somebody in it, and he took a little dip.”
“Okay, Cray out.”
The guard turned back to the unconscious doctor, mind racing to figure out just how to awaken the doctor. Water would do, he settled, and splashed her face with a cup of water. When that didn’t work, quick slaps to the face followed, and the now-spluttering and confused doctor finally surfaced.
“Doc! We’ve got a burn victim, with first and second degree burns on her left arm, two more burn victims, one with vicious third degree and the other with first degree. There’s also somebody trapped underwater that divers are pulling out now, condition unknown.”
“Alright, help me up.” Keller demanded, one hand to her head. She groaned a little as the guard yanked her to her feet, but shook it off and charged over to the gurney holding the female burn victim. She started methodically categorizing and gauging the second she saw the woman’s burnt left arm. Miraculously, the fire didn’t spread to the other body parts, stopping roughly along the upper arm, just past the meat of the bicep.
In addition, Keller was astonished to discover what appeared to be normal skin along the patient’s chest and face, as if the normal dehydration caused by burns was completely absent. Oh, yes, the section of her arm and shoulder that had evaded the fire was still dehydrated, but it was as if the heat that sucked moisture out of the skin just stopped at this clear line along where the shoulder met the torso. Complications along the interior of the arm had yet to be determined, but Keller doubted that there would be any at all.
Burn cream was applied quickly and liberally, but the patient looked to be fine. In for a hell of a recovery, sure, but the burn wasn’t life threatening, seeing as the guards had reacted quickly and put out the fire before it could spread or do any real damage. Keller finished off her analysis and ordered the guard who had accompanied the patient to gently make her drink water, for the dehydration.
The patient could be shunted to the side though, as the gurneys containing two guards burst in through the doors. One guard was conscious and rattling over a detailed report to the Captain between swigs from water bottles, but the other looked like a cut of meat that had been left too long on the grill.
Skin was cracked and red, the tiny gaps where the body had started rationing water were evident. Keller was bewildered at the burns themselves though. One half of the man’s face was burnt, but the other half was fine, other than the dehydration. It wasn’t quite a perfect division down the bridge of the nose. The burns must be from a fast flash of heat, then, Keller decided. If it was a longer, slower process, then the man’s other half of his face would be burned as well, if slightly less thoroughly.
Xxxx
“Doc, inmate got himself shanked, shiv to the gut.” the guard said as she wheeled in an orange-suited figure with a purple beanie. The inmate, as per her instructions, was already applying pressure to a swab of bandages. The guard pulled the gurney in past two curtained off sections and one gurney with a sheet over its inhabitant.
“Just… pull him in there.” the attending doctor ordered, his voice surprising the guard.
“Where’s Doctor Keller?” the guard asked, filling out a sheet with the prisoner’s name and injury.
“She’s asleep, exhausted herself. With one fatality, three major burn victims, and a slight case of the bends, I’d be dead on my feet too. Poor girl didn’t even find out about the death of her coma patient in the ICU until halfway through saving Earl Fergusson.”
The guard nodded, leaving the doctor to inspect the wounded prisoner.
“Look’s like guard Bishop here did a pretty good job, and there’s no internal bleeding or any complications, so I’d say just changing the bandages every couple hours and checking for complications is all we can do. Don’t move and get some rest, okay, son?”
The prisoner managed to nod, and managed to fall asleep.
Humming to himself, the doctor returned to his desk, taking stock of all the supplies used up by their new arrivals and filling out forms for more. Pain relievers, burn cream, massive amounts of bandages, and more were used up en masse, and Keller didn’t exactly have the time to note down precise amounts. The doctor buried himself in his work, and zoned out as he started taking count. Maybe now was a time to take advantage of that new MP3 player that his daughter abandoned for one barely a month newer.
As the doctor focused on his work, the most recent entry in the infirmary carefully took his weight off the gurney, wincing at the creaking before silently padding away.
A guard lay unconscious on his hospital bed, his side wrapped up in bandages and a small little nametag reading ‘Bob Smith.’ Carlos took a second to inspect him, but all he could tell was that the dude had been burned, was probably awaiting transport to the hospital on a helicopter.
But he wasn’t here for the guard, and Carlos started moving again, walking slowly to avoid alerting the doctor.
Carlos softly lifted up the sheet draped over the last gurney, gazing sadly at the body of the one he had come to help. He hung his head, swearing rapidly and pounding his fist into his hand.
Dammit, the playa was supposed to be alive.
Well, as bad as it is, Carlos couldn’t linger on this shit for long. Stilwater may not be the best place to be, but its people grew up hard and tough, or they left. There was a reason not many children lived in the city, and why the most popular pets were Rottweilers.
But as he turned away to move back to his gurney, he stiffened, his eyes going wide as he gestured frantically for silence.
A single eyebrow quirked, the goateed occupant of another gurney propped himself up on an elbow, regarding Carlos with a frown. A well-groomed goatee and military close cut of hair matched his rugged, yet striking features. His tanned skin bore scars, but they didn’t look like any knife or bullet wounds that Carlos had ever seen before, more like burns.
“Friend?” the man asked quietly, pointing a thumb at the other bed.
Carlos nodded, still holding up his finger to his lips.
“He can’t hear us.”
“So, who’re you then?”
“Revan.”
“Oh, a tough motherfucker, are you?” Carlos quipped, picking up a chair and starting to move over to the doctor. But before he could club the doctor over the head, the chair disappeared from his grip. Shocked, Carlos turned, but all he saw was the man from the gurney, holding the chair one handed with an expression of mild annoyance.
“Don’t bother.” Revan dismissed, letting go of the chair, which smashed to the ground in a clatter. Carlos jumped at the sound, but the doctor didn’t even notice. Carlos went to smack the man and tell him to shut up, but when he turned to face him, the tall, muscular man had vanished.
A slight thud from behind startled Carlos, causing him to pivot. The doctor lay on the ground, the goateed man left extending a hand into the air.
“Did you just…”
“Simple knock out.” Revan said, before rummaging through the medicinal cabinets. “So why’re you here?”
“Huh? Oh, to get him out.” Carlos answered, moving back to the covered gurney, looking down at the obscured body with disappointment.
“Friend?” Revan asked for the second time, as he started pulling pill bottles and retrieving scalpels.
“Nah, didn’t even know him.” Carlos admitted. “Dude was the best banger in the Saints.”
“The Saints?” Revan probed, as he finished up making a makeshift pack.
“The 3rd Street Saints, the gang that used to run this city. Hey, where you going?”
The corner of Revan’s mouth twitched.
“I’m not staying. I don’t know where I am, why I’m being held, or where all my stuff went. So, you coming?”
Carlos scrambled over to Revan, a smile spreading full force.
“You kidding? Of course I want to go! Hell, that’s why I got myself shanked in the first place. I wanted to break him out of here, but the rumor of him surviving was apparently wrong. Plus, the breakout I got planned is a two man job.”
“Well, count me in.” the curtain shot back with a rattle as the inhabitant of the last bed spoke up. Carlos and Revan caught a glimpse of burned flesh before the lady swaddled up her left arm in bandages, very gently. When the lady turned back to face the two men, the flash of pain from her burn was gone, replaced by a jovial smirk. A slim blonde beauty greeted them, her hair in a tiny ponytail. Carlos’s eyes were drawn to a few odd scars that didn’t look like any bullet or knife wounds he’d ever seen, and he instinctively shivered.
“The name’s Shepard.”
“You gonna slow us down with that arm?” Revan questioned, passing over another roll of bandages to Shepard. She nodded her thanks and stuffed the roll in a pocket.
“Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time I fought one handed. Just get me a gun.”
Revan shook his head, gesturing at the lack of weapons.
“We need to get my gear first.” Revan ordered, stabbing a pen through the sleeves of his jumpsuit before ripping them off.
“I don’t know where they keep any of your stuff, sorry. Best bet would be the armory, but that’s not anywhere near where we’d be headed with my escape plan.”
“I’ll meet up with you later.”
Carlos opened his mouth to protest, but Revan had already kicked open the metal doors and walked straight out.
“Hey! Loco motherfucker, don’t go, that’s suicide!”
“That’s ballsy,” Shepard corrected, before yanking on Carlos’s arm and tugging him out the back door. “But that doesn’t mean that we have to follow him, so let’s get out of here.”
Xxxx
It’s odd. Revan reflected as he kicked off the wall, smashing the unaware guard in the back of the head with a flying sidekick. The man collapsed against the floor as the prisoners in the mess hall finally noticed and started cheering. Revan swore as the noise from the prisoners alerted the next set of guards. They turned and had barely turned when a flying knee caught the left guard in the face. The guard on the right jumped back, but couldn’t dodge anymore, as Revan tumbled off of the first guard and tackled him. They hit the ground with a thud; the guard already squirming as Revan rained blows down upon the defenseless guard.
A moment later, the guard joined his companion in unconsciousness as Revan jumped back up and sprinted off.
The Force is odd here… like it’s smaller.
An arm twisted, flipping to its furthest extension, before an open palm snapped it. Legs buckled back and broke as snap-kicks blew out kneecaps.
He could still manipulate the Force, but it wasn’t coming to him as easily. Feats like summoning lightning or pushing someone were now beyond his reach. Revan felt like he couldn’t even use the most basic of telekinetic powers. He could still sense, but that particular skill was always more in the line of experience, of having faced enough to know just what each individual signal and sign meant.
But while his usual abilities could detect a sentient life form up to half a kilometer away, right now he could barely sense the guard thirty meters away, despite the fact he could see him perfectly well.
Despite that limitation in range however, once within that range, he could still detect intentions and surface thoughts, and Revan rolled to the side, as he knew that the guard would open fire with his pistol.
If he really had to guess, the Force wasn’t muddled or disturbed, it was just smaller. Without how much of the Force that was usually available, he doubted that anyone in this place could have learned to use or even detect it.
So why could he still detect the Force, even slightly?
Xxxx
“You sure you’re okay with one arm all charred up like that?”
“Hey! Sto-”
WHACK
“Does that answer your question?”
Carlos shrugged, as Shepard tugged the pistol from the guard’s grip. She thumbed the magazine release, but looked startled when it dropped out and hit the ground.
“No thermal clip?” she examined, surprised.
“ ‘The hell’s a thermal clip?” Carlos replied, tossing a couple new magazines at her. Carlos had to give her props, despite her astonishment, she still caught the magazines effortlessly, slapping one in with instinctive ease.
“Are you telling me that we’re using chem weapons here?” Shepard snapped, grunting with effort as she clambered up the last air duct, leaving the slight ventilated comfort of the maintenance shaft for the bone-numbing chill of the windy prison roof.
“This way!” Carlos called, gesturing towards the fire escape. “We can talk later, we gotta move before they get the helicopters airborne!”
Shepard agreed, but Carlos had already hopped the last fence and was rattling down the fire escape at full speed. Sirens blaring for the second time that night, harsh floodlights snapping on and causing Shepard and Carlos to squint. Carlos’s eyes widened in shock at the sheer number of sirens and lights flashing up, as police cars roared up from what he guessed was the guard barracks down the road.
“Damn, they got the choppers up already!”
A final drop, down onto a closed dumpster lid, while Carlos opened fire on the first police cruiser, thirty yards away.
“You’re thinking too small, Carlos.” Shepard teased, as she fired. Carlos went to ask what she meant, when the sky fell. The police chopper plummeted, crushing a couple cars as it blocked off the rest of the cruisers, at least for a little while. The guards cried out as they fell, tumbling out of the helicopter and smashing into the hard concrete with wet smacks, as Shepard nonchalantly strode towards the cars, as if this was nothing.
Shepard scooped up one of the guard’s rifles, slinging it around her shoulder before stripping the man’s vest of its ammo. Two mags went in each pocket, then Shepard went back to her pistol. Carlos snatched up the other rifle, wincing at the odd angles of the dead guard’s legs.
“Where’s Revan?” Carlos called, as he went full-auto on a cruiser, stitching its hood with bullets, while Shepard carefully took out the drivers of another.
SMASH
Carlos looked up, swearing as a shower of glass and one very dead guard came flying out of one of the few windows in the complex, maybe a break room or something. His eyes widened further when a dark figure jumped out after the man, a hail of bullets accompanying him.
No way! Carlos thought, stunned, as Revan fell two stories, hitting the concrete, his landing obscured by the burnt husk of a police cruiser. Walking over, Revan joined them, his own rifle in his hands and two more on his back, as well as a fierce scowl mounted on his face.
“Problems?” Shepard asked, getting in the back of the police cruiser.
“Needed to get my gear.” Revan answered, his tone harsh.
Carlos hopped in the passenger seat while Revan took the wheel, tossing aside the corpse there like it was just meat. Revan stared at the wheel for a minute, before jumping back out of the car.
“You drive.”
Carlos shifted over to the drivers seat clumsily, while Revan went around and hopped into the passenger seat, bashing out the window with his rifle so he could fire out of it.
“What took so long? Couldn’t find the evidence locker?” Shepard asked.
“No, they moved my gear, nothing left.” Revan scowled.
The car roared to life quickly, and by the time more police cruisers came speeding up the hill, Carlos was already shooting past them, going straight for the docks.
“Gate.” Revan noted.
“I see it, I see it.” Carlos replied, smashing the fences open with the reinforced grill of the cruiser.
“We’re going get a boat.” Revan said, and Carlos noticed how he didn’t seem to be asking.
“Go for the far one, a buddy of mine got a guard to put some weapons and money in there.” Carlos shouted from the dockside, as Revan jumped down to the dock.
Carlos found the boat already prepped, while Shepard quickly showed Revan how to reload the LMG that they found resting inside the boat.
“What is it with this technology?” Revan muttered, as Shepard connected the ammo box. “Who uses solid-shot weapons any more?”
“Well,” Shepard shrugged, racking back the bolt and handing over the rifle. “I don’t know about you and your time, but where I’m from, this matches the tech we had about two hundred years ago. Chem-fired bullets instead of mass effect fields, gas-powered engines, wheeled cars. What about your time?”
“The ability to travel across the galaxy in a week.” Revan said. “Technology you can’t even dream of.”
“Nice try buddy, but- Choppers! Ten o’clock!” Shepard snapped into combat mode, spotting targets for Revan as the guards finally caught up to them.
Revan sprayed bullets across the helicopters, missing more than half of his shots as the boat launched over waves and the helicopters dodged.
“Short bursts, one second on the trigger at most!” Shepard instructed, as a wave crashed over the wheelhouse, drenching them. Inside, Carlos struggled to get the boat in closer. If he could get closer to the shore, passing the under the bridges, he might be able to lose the cops by getting to the old fish warehouse where the Samedi ran some of their operations. He still knew a couple guys who ran security there, and they’d distract the cops while they vanished into the city.
The choppers took forever to shoot down, but after destroying two more, no more seemed to appear. Sheppard supposed that after a certain point, the cops just didn’t want to waste any more hardware on three escaped prisoners.
That boded ill, she thought. Honest cops would be pissed off when they lost their buddies, and would only chase them all the harder. Shepard supposed that having a police force that was more than a little corrupt and used to losses was good for them, as they were currently on the run, but what did that mean for the city’s crime?
Well, Carlos was trying to bust out his friend; some hotshot from the most notorious gang in this city, Stilwater was it?
Xxxx
“Gracias amigo.” Carlos said, bumping fists with his friend. The odor of fish guts wafted over him as the sun broke out over the city, and Carlos figured that, all in all, it had been a pretty good night.
Shepard was leaning on the wall over by the gate, her arm still bandaged. Carlos had to say she looked pretty good. Her face wasn’t supermodel materiel, but it was beautiful enough, and that absolute confidence she had was only helping things, though sometimes it scared him.
She didn’t seem like a criminal, but what else got a person to the point where she could waste a dozen men and think nothing of it? She definitely wasn’t a cop, too at ease with breaking the law for that. Only option left was military, and that put Carlos off like nothing else. Shepard fit the elite, black ops mindset way too well, and that weird comment of hers during the breakout just bugged him.
Oh well, he thought. It’s not they’d be meeting again after this. He was getting back to his old life as fast as he could. Move forward or die; that was the Stilwater way.
“So, how do we find these Third Street Saints?” Revan asked, uncrossing his arms as they left the pier.
"What Saints?" Carlos returned bitterly.
