Chapter One: Break the Silence
The Northern Steel City penitentiary was one of the most complex and sophisticated of incarceration structures in the region. Its tall, menacing walls, guarded by computers and humans alike, rivaled medieval castles in the fact that it was wrapped by not one but two thick, steel and cement walls. As the guards stalked the catwalks with guns hoisted on their shoulders; cameras hidden away like rats watched their prisoner's with secretive, unblinking eyes. The electronic wires that coiled around the tops of the walls and chain-link fences sparked occasionally, like thorny, curled serpents, spikes glinting evilly in the chill winter light. In the courtyard that was the entrance, once behind the first wall, more guards lined their posts along the pathway on the ground, seemingly made of stone but their heads would turn occasionally if one really stared.
It looked like a scene straight out of world war two. If a prisoner were to climb over the first wall; there was a deadly no-mans-land he would have to sprint across, laden with blank gravel, covering hidden landmines and traps. The thick walls were lined with permanently stationed gun turrets where one had to just sit in the attached, revolving chair and fire off laser rounds until his target was obliterated. It was the same treachery if and after the second wall was breached for an escapee. Very few had ever made it; and most of them did not break away from their confines without a scar or two to show it. A successful breakout here was more rare than a tortured soul wandering out of the fiery chasms of the Underworld.
Deep inside the actual prison the first floor, the only floor on the surface, was designed for the guards and the police only; living quarters, locker rooms, offices, eating facilities, sanitary facilities, and weapon rooms. On the second floor, deep below, things became much more oppressing, with dark halls and thick titanium cell doors, as monotonous and confusing a labyrinth as a hornet's nest. Here guards, just like worker bees, stomped back and forth, waiting for their chance to pounce. There were multiple security rooms; where many screens were monitored by even more guards. The air was stale and old; and rumors spread that it contained a neutralizing gas. The guards were, after all, wearing black and blue suits of 'armor' and faceless helmets.
The first basement level was for prisoner's who needed only sturdy cells and no real specialization to prevent a break out. The second level down, on the other hand, held individuals that required "different types" of confinements. Here was where the worst criminals of Steel City were kept, not just the same bloodthirsty sociopaths, predators or muscle heads contained upstairs. These were the masterminds, whose knowledge of their particular genre of crimes and interferences with the law, whose names were shunned from being said above, were put and hardly, if ever, let out. These very in-animated halls were as hushed as the lips of the dead, a ghostly silence invading the airspace, caused from the containment of any shrieks or insane cries behind those cement curtains. One could only imagine the sort of devious freaks and demonic minds that lay hidden behind those solid locked doors. The ones in these cells were only let out for their human needs, and when the occasion happened they were either drugged or guided out at gunpoint in cuffs.
In cell number 18 sat a man that looked to be about in his late forties; except that now he was only half a man. The left portion of his upper skull had been replaced with a cybernetic one; and the visible tech underneath the reflective transparent covering had once glowed a subtle crimson. His left eye was protected by a patch of metal extension from the skull prosthetics, leaving a leering slit for him to see out of that was now dimly radiating a calm red. Extending down the left side of his jawbone was a clasp that was fitted to the shape of his face and secured under his chin. His shoulders were replaced with the same gear as the convex skull component, acting as round armor. His arms had been re-attached after being blown off by another mechanical fighter, the very Teen Titan Cyborg, the one who thwarted his pernicious plans. The transparent gear served as his wrists and all the way up to his elbows, with 3 spikes protruding from the sides for effect. His hands were made of solid metal, with all correct joints that allowed his fingers and thumbs to move perfectly, and his unfeeling fingertips were slightly sharp. His electronic arms and head device had not been deactivated; but programmed so that he could only do normal tasks, rather sluggishly. All of his additional strength had been disengaged. It was, despite himself, a terrible feeling, the feeling of sheer weakness and vulnerability. But he still had his cunning; and this was what kept him sane in the darkness with which he fought. The saying was very common: In prison, one has a lot of time to plot, which was precisely what he was doing.
He sat in the dim light brooding over things, eyes closed calmly, almost as if he were meditating with his arms resting on his legs, for he was slightly hunched over. It had been almost 2 years since he had been locked in this hell; and the whole time he had schemed escape. None of his plans seemed fully plausible yet; but each one was becoming more possible as he turned it over in his mind. He did not know the entire map of the prison, and if he did manage to escape the most difficult thing would be avoiding getting lost and cornered. Without his digitally given vigor; he was much more easy to beat. Every time he thought of this a wave of anger would flicker through his body and create a feeling of disgust and hatred that condensed in the center of his being. His hate fueled him more than the mediocre food the workers gave him; more than their mindless prattling trying to browbeat and mock him. He suddenly smiled slightly as he realized it was only a matter of time before he escaped; and then they would receive their retribution as compensation for their cocky bullheadedness. No one hindered Brother Blood.
His cubicle was blank except for a few stereotypical cell items one would find. It was all about intimidation, the shadows cast across the walls and chill in the air, the dank atmosphere that was almost like living in the eternal stomach of Limbo. He heard very little from the outside, only the guards as they marched by, the occasional cry, scream or yell of anger and that sort. He had only seen a few halls and the entrances when he was taken in, such passages and images most prisoners would rather forget than remember. Not him, his memory was photographic and he vividly recalled the two outer walls, the gun turrets, and the upstairs. It was getting past all the guards without being seen that was his problem. He was beginning to doubt his agility with his dysfunctional arms. He clenched his robotic talon for a hand into a fist, looking at the artificial knuckles, ornately designed. It was such a strange feeling when he first left Professor Chang's lair with his new robotic replacements, having no feeling in his arms, but he had grown tolerant of it more quickly than others, such had been his lust for victory. They had failed him, these arms. They would need a great deal of upgrades; once he got out...
He snapped back to reality when a loud shout erupted from his hall, the first resilient sound that had reached his ears since coming here. He edged closer to the door on his bench, not wanting to draw attention to himself, those bastards in the security room where hawking his every move. His movements were so fluid that it looked only as if he had shifted a little on the bench to get comfortable. He kept his head bowed and listened intently; his heart beating just a hint faster. At first the voices were muffled and he could only make out an altercation of sorts, or maybe a struggle.
Outside, at the corner perpendicular to the hallway cell number 18 was located in, five of the featureless armored guards, with slim metal poles that had a wicked looking forks at the end generating electric sparks, were trying to get a hold on a figure that lashed out and kicked whenever they came near. They were slowly wriggling and rolling across the tiled gray floor, their hands restrained behind their back.
"Get in closer, try and tranquilize 'em!" One of the guards yelled hoarsely. He clutched his leg where the captive had kicked him savagely. For some unearthly reason the guards could not get close, every time they stepped within five feet they could not move any further, as if encountering an invisible wall. Upon hearing their orders the four other guards stepped in and one of them shouted, extending an open hand for effect:
"This is your last chance! Freeze!"
His warning fell on seemingly deaf ears as the figure labored on, rolling and shoving forward, trying to stand up. The guard that had spoken thrust his stun pole at them, but it glanced off of seemingly thin air and blue sparks exploded in a shower from where the impact had occurred, lighting up the air with a cool colored tinge.
"What in the…" Another guard breathed in exasperation. They tried several times to strike the person with the tips of their poles, but each stab bounced off some sort of force field. They could only chase them down the hall and trap them, but they were risking it. The captive used the wall as they crawled forward to stand up and lean against; their reflexes were greatly disoriented. The guards once again surrounded the figure and they all stabbed at once, as a unit, and penetrated the shield only slightly. The circumference of the domed sphere lit up for just a moment around the person as they tried to regenerate it. There was a flicker of deep blue light, and as the protective layer dissipated, one of the guards lunged and tried to tackle them. In that moment, the writhing captive regenerated the shield, but the two colliding forces of the energy field and the diving guard caused it to blanch off in the opposite direction. The impact struck a cell door and it swung wide open, the captive crashing into the cell almost as if thrown in, right at Brother Blood's feet. He stood up, surprised, and his head snapped to his left as something slammed the door back shut. He then looked down at the scene in front of him with great surprise.
The figure was on their knees, their head touching the floor from the fall almost as if bowing, wrapped from head to toe in nothing but tattered white bandages: what could be the shreds of a straight jacket, as there were a few straps here and there that had been broken and hung by a thread or two from scuffing against the floor and walls. Long blue-black hair spilled onto the floor, curling at the ends almost like rivers of ink. They looked up at him and their face was concealed behind more wrappings and a very morbid mask, a series of thick black straps that came down from a wide band across their forehead to their chin, making a 'T', and another horizontal strap across their mouth. It was some sort of restraint, and as he looked closer one of the ends of the bar across the forehead (it was hard to see at first because they had bangs) had loosened and hung off slightly, and the most peculiar thing about it, he noted, was a trickle of blood running down from their left temple. It appeared that the mask somehow connected to their brain and part of it was ripped off. He was about to speak when a series of odd things happened:
First, there suddenly appeared a blue bauble in a corner of the door where the tiny camera was hidden, entrapping it. How did they know where it was when he himself could not find it? Second, they opened their eyes, which were a crystalline glacial-blue color, and fixed into his. A voice came from inside his head, a mere whisper:
"Please help me…"
He scowled lightly out of bewilderment, emphasizing his look by raising his chin a little, and said aloud in a bored manner: "Now why would I risk my neck? And just how are you communicating to me that way?"
"I'll help you get out, just release me. I'm using telepathy; but I can't last much longer. The camera has been blocked, no one can hear or see us." They nodded to the blinded camera. They sounded like they were in much pain and strife.
Brother Blood clenched one of his clawed hands into a fist of metal. "Really? And what else will you do for me?" He hissed. If he was going to risk it; he better get something exceptionally good out of the deal.
The bound person paused, and looked at his artificial arms and head.
"Your tech is not working right. I know someone who can fix you; someone who has access to a sufficient source of Xinthium. I offer this restitution. But we are pissing away valuable time right now. Please, unbind me."
Brother Blood kneeled and examined the handcuffs. Unlike the old fashioned cuffs with the chain links that allowed some comfortableness for the hands, these were just a bar that expanded to allow the hands and wrists to fit in them then retracted back in automatically. There was a faint stain of crimson where the edges of the holes rubbed against their wrists. He looked at the slot where a slip of some sort was used as a key; and ran one of his sharp index fingers in the slit. There came a noise of a few gears and contraptions springing and breaking inside, and with a little click and hum the cuffs expanded. He pulled the obstruction off of their wrists and the captive examined their hands briefly before trying feebly to stand up.
"I will blow this door out and stun the guards. Then I'll guide you through the next two floors. I might need your help once we reach the surface, there will be many of them coming at us by that time." The figure murmured in his mind, a genderless tone; the texture of their telepathic thoughts like ripples across glassy water.
"Fine." Was all he grunted, folding his arms and watching intently. The figure stood by the door, the frantic pounding and swears of the guards outside the only noise. The bandaged person held their hands out in front of them and closed their eyes; so stiff they looked like a living mummy. Suddenly their long glossy hair began to sway as if in a breeze, the strands and threads that were torn or loosened flapping wildly on their wrappings. A blue aura flickered in front of them, as if cobalt static had replaced all the oxygen in that area, and condensed so that it became thicker and more luminous. The energy from it played with Brother blood's red cloak and kicked up a very thin dust. Suddenly, the escapee thrust their hands forward in a very fluid motion, taking a half step forward as if pushing some great weight, and the energy field crashed into the door, blowing it (and the unlucky guards behind it) across the hall and into the opposing wall with a loud bang. Brother Blood raised an eyebrow in interest; but soon found himself running at the masked person's side as they ran down the hall.
They traveled through the vast underground floor, putting the puzzle together with clips from each other's memory. When they rounded their 6th corner they encountered more guards, two this time, and it was assured from the pounding echoes of boots on the floor that more were close behind. Brother Blood gazed at the guards, and suddenly he smiled slightly, a smug expression etching across his hybridized face. He had itched to do this for what it seemed an eternity; all those sneers and shoves they had directed towards him when he was allowed out every few days had built up inside into a stairway of loathing despite his set-in-stone sobriety. He would not yield now that he had tasted freedom. As they charged at him, he jumped into the air and somersaulted over them with catlike grace, and landed directly behind them so that their backs were almost touching. They had stopped, and before they could turn around to stab at him or shoot him he struck them in the backs of their heads with his elbows, knocking them forward and crushing the backs of their helmets. The one guard moaned and fell over, unconscious or dead, he did not care, and the other wobbled and tried to regain their sense of balance. Brother Blood spun around, and using that acquired force from the spin, kicked the remaining guard in the middle back and sent him flying into the wall. The guards lay splayed and twisted on the floor. A familiar aptitude had returned to him like a lost lover.
"That felt sensational." He chuckled sinisterly, stretching and cracking his neck. The bandaged person looked at him, eyes widened just a little in amazement.
"We have to run; there are more behind us that can't be stopped with kicks and shields." They said quickly, and went on. Brother Blood picked up one of the staffs on the floor, twirled it smartly so it hummed and blurred like a fan to dust off the mantle of his skills, and followed. They reached the stairway in a matter of seconds and got to the top without any problems. A guard clashed with them at the hall exit, probably ordered to protect the staircase, and Brother Blood took him out easily with a skull splitting clout from his newfound weapon. The escapee eased past the fallen guard, and Blood thought he saw them shudder. Since when did guilty criminals cringe at the sight of injury? He began to doubt his 'partner's' nerve. Never the less, they, whoever they were, had gotten him this far without 'shattering their backbone'.
They zipped past halls that he did not recall ever seeing, but soon they found the second stairs and reached the top. Blood's eyes gazed at his first glimpse of sunlight through a window far in front of him. To their left and right guards were closing in, and they bolted straight on. Bursting through double doors, they were about to reach the first huge wall and already gunshots were being fired from above, flinging up dust and chunks of stone wherever the lasers hit. Blood kept the guards on the ground at bay, stunning a few and knocking aside others as the second fugitive catapulted energy fields at the gun turrets with agonizingly strained throws, bursting the tips of the guns so they sat useless. Now agents pouring out of the facility and those above on the walls were firing at them, and Blood watched as the shots pelted off of the shield surrounding them like rain. Each reflected shot caused a booming zap to ring in their ears.
The escapee in wrappings was dragging their feet forward, barely moving from fatigue. If they kept this up, their shield would disappear and they would be killed. Blood glared, red eye glinting with a trickle of sweat snaking down the right side of his face, and suddenly shot towards the figure, scooped them up in his arms (they were surprisingly light) and carried them like an injured child as he bolted ahead. Using his cybernetic claws he clambered up the wall, leaving devilish scratch marks that would puzzle authorities later on, and leaped over the side with his newfound rag-doll partner hanging limply over his shoulders. They were still awake, holding onto him, but limply. He ran across the catwalk and looked at the ground in front of him, suspiciously blank. No doubt he would step on a decoy and explode.
"My shield will protect you, just run for it." They assured him tiredly. Blood's will to escape, and not his common sense, propelled him off the side of the wall, and he gasped as he landed under the added weight. After recovering, he zigzagged his way across the field. About halfway to the second wall he heard an all-too obvious beep as he activated a landmine. The noise from the explosion was thunderous and fire erupted all around him like demon's breath, unsettling pieces of gravel as all the force struck the shield, but it held up. He had never been so thankful for anything in his life.
He reached the second wall and climbed much slower than before, beginning to get tired as his adrenaline burned its last in his veins (both human and electronic) and cold fear creeping up on him despite his warrior's spirit. Shots still biting at the force field urged him on, and he pulled himself over the top of the second wall. He gazed out before him at the field below, a copy of the one he had just fled from, and groaned in aggravation. This was the final test: beyond a chain-link fence far away was deliverance.
Sucking in a breath and holding onto the practically limp figure, not even sure if the shield was still in tact, he shimmied down, using one of his powerful arms to cling onto the side, sparks emitting like fireworks, and landed just as a swarm of armed agents arrived where he had stood. They ran to their guns and aimed at his heart. Blood's feet pounded against the gravel, now running straight ahead and gaining speed, giving it his everything.
Both of their irises shrank, enveloped by the whites of their eyes, as not one but two beeps rang out. A loud explosion burst behind them, the force sending him flying forward but giving him additional speed, and the other explosion enveloped the shield to his grim surprise and once again flames blinded his vision. The shield repelled the searing inferno and bullets from the gunfire; and a thick cloud of black smoke covered his path behind him. Brother Blood glanced back, slowing down, and then with a last heaving effort flung himself and his protection over the fence. The shield degenerated as his partner's will gave way at last and in that instant the barbed wire across the top of the fence bit into his chest, pulling as if the metal thorns were actually clinging to him, and then releasing his flesh with a tearing noise. He landed harshly on his side and rolled a couple of times, his partner flung from his arms and not moving a few feet away.
Back at the prison, a captain stumbled out of the mess of running troopers and removed his helmet, his brown hair plastered against his forehead from sweating. With his helmet in the nook of one arm he phoned his boss, staring into the smoke with glossy eyes. He took a deep breath and said:
"They got away. Blood and the other we were bringing in for questioning; both escaped." He stared unfeeling into the distance…
Brother Blood arose to his feet after a few precious seconds of recovery were taken. He breathed heavily, shoulders rising up and down somewhat, and looked back, but all he could see was the smoke spreading from where the land mines had been set off. Far back he heard the shouts of the guards coming after them, probably using the drawbridge platforms to get across which could expand from one wall to the other. A brisk wind blew in from the West and ruffled his clothes, and he inhaled it with exultance. He was free again; a rare feeling both evil and good could relate to. Picking up his unconscious and weathered ally, he dashed off into the winter mists towards the city, leaving no footprints as fresh snow began to fall.