Escape: The Magpie

It is the violent CLANG! of the cell door that wakes you up from your death. Rotten, damp air fills your nose as you take your first breath in Hell - a royal welcome for a royal asshole like yourself. At least whoever dumped you here had the decency to patch up the bullet holes in your clothes and body.

You only have the light of a flickering candle on the wall to see by, but from what you can make out, you're in jail. The cell you're in is depressingly generic. A tattered cot, a grimy sink and toilet, and a barred window overlooking a fucking huge city block and whoa how high up are you that's like the top of the empire state building???

The view is incredible! If you were hoping for an equally incredible view through the door, you may or may not be disappointed. You are one in a massive line of cells stretching out indefinitely in either direction. One long, narrow hallway that fades to black like a game that hasn't rendered that far yet. There's got to be an exit at one end...but which one?

A gaunt man in a tattered blue uniform limps past your cell. Is that...is that what they call a guard here? He looks like...80 years old.

"Hey, yeah you, gramps. Come over here for a second would ya?" Cecil called out, fumbling around and putting on his hat. "I've got a question, hell, I've got a few."

He reached under his coat, and was utterly amazed to find that he still had his pistol. Who the hell locks people up without taking their weapons? Cecil blinked. Right, weapons, he had been shot.... He had been shot a fucking lot. He suppressed a moment of panic, deciding that for now the details of his death were effectively irrelevant. He was alive now, somehow or another, and apparently a good quarter-mile off the fucking ground. that took priority.

He flicked off the safety on the pistol, sliding it out of sight up his coat sleeve. Idealy he would not have to shoot an old man in the face today, but you could never tell.

Well that's quite a straightforward approach, isn't it? "Gramps" thinks it's quite bold too. His head snaps around to look at you. Although you'd imagine he has a hard time seeing with that metal plate drilled to his face. It covers his eyes, presumably breaks and crushes his nose, and leaves only his withered lips, twisted into a snarl over jagged yellow teeth.

As he lunges towards you, grasping through the bars as if he's completely forgotten how doors work, his key ring falls to the floor. Wow.

"Jesus fucki- well that's convenient..." Cecil said, looking down at the key-ring now sitting on the floor. "I uh....guess you're a zombie or something so erm... Gonna have to just..." Cecil ducked down under the flailing arms, grabbing the key ring. Now, he was faced with a choice. He could try to incapacitate the old man with the fucking metal plate nailed to his head....or he could just...yeah actually fuck this guy.

Cecil aimed at the throat, and fired twice, stepping out of the way as blood spurted through the bars from two newly opened entrances to the guard's circulatory system. Cecil grimaced. So. Zombies....maybe. And a prison hundreds of feet off the ground. The list of concerning shit was starting to become pretty lengthy.



So, first order of business, get out.

Stepping carefully around the growing puddle of blood, Cecil unlocked his cell, and opened it, wincing at the unfortunate crunch of guard-arms, before stepping out into the hallway, his .38 drawn and ready.