I do not claim ownership of the characters or setting used in this story. This is a story that is being written purely for fun.
16:39
December 28th, 1991
He sat alone, in his quiet gray box.
Do you see what you've gotten into? Nothing you've done has mattered. It's ending, and this is all you've accomplished.
Ending. Of course it was. What was next? Oblivion? He knew he was far too gone to hope for anything near redemption.
He glanced over at the book on his table. The golden cross was clearly visible on the burgundy cover.
You know it's too late for that.
Forgiveness was simply too far away. Wherever he was going, there would be no absolution.
… Don't worry. Leaving this world isn't as scary as it sounds.
No time. He used up all of his chances on false leads and lost hope.
Radiant light. A flash. Nothingness.
STOP
REW
PLAY
PILOT
1st Scene - Release
13:25
June 20th, 1990
He watched as the rat man ran.
It was a luminescent tango, one where a single misstep meant death in the form of bright pink rat brain going splat against the cement floor as the bull man rams their foreheads together.
Just like that. The rat shouldn't have backed up into a corner.
REW
The rat paces along the outside of the basketball court, but the bull just redirects himself with no hesitation. A twitch, that's it, and suddenly the rat can't run fast enough to avoid the giant hands that capture his shoulders and wipe away his chances.
REW
The rat's a nimble one. He barely skims past the bull, who charges headfirst into the wall.
The bull charges again, but the pattern's been established now. The rat pulls off a second dodge.
A pipe flies into the court. The rat sees it, and immediately snatches it up. The bull charges once more, but this time the rat stands his ground. One could almost feel his satisfaction at hearing the bull's head go crack when the pipe meets it.
The battle's done. The observers, all clad in bright orange jumpsuits, quickly storm the western wing as an alarm begins to blare. Deep red pulses throughout the halls, soaking everything in an unforgettable crimson.
Time to move. The rooster follows the rat, pausing only to slip a sharpened piece of metal out from within his jumpsuit. A familiar beat pulsates within him as he grasps the improvised weapon.
He told himself this wouldn't happen again, but the world never forgets.
He catches up with the rat as men to his right are gunned down in their blind desperation.
The rooster and the rat exchange a look, one made of equal parts recognition and reluctant trust, before moving into action.
A nightstick cracks his skull just as he passes through the first door.
REW
He jabs one guard in the stomach before cutting the throat of the next. He turns to find the rat finishing off another two. Both nod and turn towards the pair of offices before them.
Shotguns behind the glass. Orange writhing on the ground. The rooster slips around the corner, prompting a spray of buckshot that narrowly misses his retreating form as he slips back into cover. The guards abandon their secure position and pursue him, only to be cut down as they enter his sight.
He missed one. Lead pellets turn his head into a cloud of red.
REW
The rooster and the rat shared a strange sense of teamwork. The rooster baits the gunmen and both men take them down. They pick up the fallen shotguns and clear out the showers by blasting away everything in sight.
None of this would solve anything. The blood on his hands and the feverish tempo in his mind were evidence enough of that. This felt different, though. He no longer relished in the kill or embraced the adrenaline. They were obstacles, pure and simple. The waves that push against him as he swims out to a cerulean sea.
The rooster and the rat switch into guard uniforms. The orange men were now the enemy.
The two men proceeded to the south wing, which was painted in brilliant shades of red and orange.
One of the bulls spotted them through a window, and immediately went careening out of his cell. The rooster was tackled and pummeled into a red paste before the rat could react.
REW
A bull sped around the corner, but found himself with a glass shank lodged in his throat. Red fluid gushed out of the wound as he struggled with it, only for him to go limp as his strength ebbed away. His other comrades fell just as easily, armed with only glass and nightsticks. Each cell was flanked with glass, making most of the enemies easy to eliminate once the rooster got his hands on a magnum. The rat took on the bulls, smashing his pipe into their heads as they charged him.
The rooster's head was clear through it all, a far cry from the blind cacophony he had become so used to the previous year. His questions were numerous after seeing the news from his cell, but they did not matter now. He needed to return to Miami. He needed to cleanse it of his essence.
The cafeteria was occupied by the orange men. The rooster turns left to enter one of the main rooms. He throws his empty magnum to knock one down.
A snake smashes his meaty fist into the rooster's head, painting the floor in red.
REW
He entered the main room on his right, but ducked back through the doorway. The shotgun-wielding man followed him, only to fall as the rooster and the rat pummel him.
The shotgun of the rooster and the pipe of the rat was more than enough. The bulls were intercepted by the rat while the gunmen and the snakes fell to the rooster. They loop back to the entrance, where SWAT officers had begun to secure the area. One ushered them into a van.
The rooster locks eyes with the rat. The rat looks back down, knowing what lays in those eyes.
Confusion. Rage. Acceptance. It was natural for one who had lost someone of importance.
Nothing he could have said would have alleviated the tension. He was under orders, and his mother was vulnerable. If she could barely stand, what hope did she have against the men on the phone?
The rooster turned his gaze downward. Old blood, spilt a lifetime ago. Revenge was simply too petty to consider.
The radiant sun set as the van drove on, spilling brilliant orange light on to the tainted soil.