A/N: Note that although each part of Re is written with the intent that it be understandable without having read the other parts, it is still advisable that you read previous parts of the story to more fully understand and enjoy the story which follows.
The author would like to say that if you don't like a character's behavior or how a scene played out, just do what the author does when they watch an episode of a TV show and don't like how it went: pretend it was a hallucination, a dream sequence or some sort of mind control which was later resolved in an untold part of the story.
Or you could complain in the reviews. The author would then add your complaint to the existing file on their computer which is entirely devoted to the many, and obvious, flaws in this story.
Arrow County Correctional Facility
September 25th, 08:13 AM
The eruption of the violence was sudden, but not without its warning. Everyone had expected it, had seen it coming, had known that this conclusion was inevitable. What had been brief flashes of subtle fury exploded into a torrential and uncontainable fire storm of flaming rage.
The illusion of control, so carefully maintained for so very long, was torn away by rough hands and shredded by screaming voices, each clamoring for their own kind of attention.
Later, there would be those who said it began with a shout, others claimed it was a whisper, or perhaps a planned rebellion which got out of hand. A silent dissent flowing among the inmates like a telepathic message, turning to blind and mindless vengeance wrought not only upon the guilty, but on the innocent as well, if there was such a thing.
The only thing anyone knew for sure was that, once the violence began, there was only one way for it to play out. Correctional officers who could sought refuge on the other side of the barred doors. But there were others who were not so lucky, they were caught by the surging upheaval of the inmates, dragged into their midst and ripped to pieces by bare hands eager for the kill.
But they were not the only bodies to hit the floor. Hatreds which had been restrained suddenly broke free when, as one, the inmates turned upon each other in wild savagery, clawing at one another as though they were animals, inarticulate cries of rage wringing out of them in almost painful gasps.
It was only a few moments later that the officers who had escaped returned in full riot gear. Their own anger and frustration in the situation they vented on the bloody heathens before them. It was not in their denial of God, but in their refusal to realize that it was in their best interest to stop going the way they were, and had been since before they ever came here.
The prisoners were not yet adults, but were instead youths, juveniles who had far exceeded the term "delinquent". Some had even gone right past "criminal" and into some other, as yet unnamed, category too terrible to even be accurately described.
Roars of pain and screams of protest began to replace those of unbridled fury and mad triumph. The riot, shattered by smoke and rubber bullets, broke apart almost as quickly as it had built up.
As the coughing, crying and spluttering juveniles scattered and fell to harsh blows, they parted to reveal the heart of the blazing fury.
Kneeling beside the fallen body of a correctional officer, blood on his hands and shirt, eyes staring widely at the chaos about him, was Tim.
