Toomes figures he's stroking out. He must be stroking out. His cellmate just turned to dust in the middle of his morning piss.
It isn't long after he pinches himself a few times that the shouts and screams of genuine terror begin to fill the prison beyond his door.
Well, on the bright side, he's not stroking out.
On the other hand, what the fuck is going on.
By the time the prisoners have overcome the guards and an all-out riot is taking place, a knot the size of Texas has formed in the bottom of Toomes' stomach. What about Liz? What about Doris? He even briefly thinks of Mason and Schultz.
His fear only worsens when he reaches one of the abandoned guard stations where a television is displaying a news reporter as white as a sheet. As the man struggles to read out from the teleprompter Toomes begins to realize that something has gone very, very wrong.
Screams of pain and rage from just outside the guard station bring him back to the moment. He has to get out of there, he has to find a way to Liz and make sure his baby is safe. With all the ensuing chaos, it shouldn't be too hard to get back to the mainland. At least, that's what he has to tell himself right now. He can't allow himself to get distracted by all the what if's floating around about just how many different ways this could go wrong.
The surviving guards from the massive riot are struggling to get the ferry working and get back to Long Island. Toomes knows he's only going to get one chance at this, and the window of opportunity to sneak onto that boat is rapidly narrowing. Huddled behind a lockbox full of life vests on the prison ferry docks, he wishes these panicking guards attempting to escape a deadly prison riot would have their shit a little less together so he could sneak on easier.
With no gun and no flight harness, he knows that all he's got on his side is a good left hook. Still, it's his baby girl on the line – the tug of his instincts as a parent are just too loud to ignore. Not that he'd even try to ignore them in the first place. He hopes Doris is there too – but Liz is priority. He knows too that Doris wouldn't blame him for thinking that way. If she were forced to choose between Liz or Adrian, of course she'd choose Liz, and Adrian would be all the more grateful to her for it.
A hand slaps down on his shoulder, snapping him out of his concentration. He turns elbow shooting up on reflex and catching Gargan square in the nose. Toomes hears a crunch and Gargan snarls in pain, covering his face for a moment before shaking it off.
"Simmer down, Toomes." Gargan hisses quietly, rubbing his nose. "Remember how I said I got friends on the outside?"
Adrian squints at him, and it's not just the dim light of the darkening skies. He doesn't trust Gargan as far as he could throw him. It's just his luck too that out of all the prisoners to survive whatever the hell just happened, one of them is this guy. Toomes gave plenty of guys second chances in his salvage company. Guys who, by all rights, didn't deserve another chance. He gave it to them anyway.
Still, something about Gargan made his skin crawl. In a way that he'd never really experienced before. He'd experienced anger, jealousy, rage – sure. Lots of things like that. They were simple emotions and he considered himself a pretty simple guy, so there wasn't a lot to get mixed up. This feeling on the other hand, it was something far more visceral. A primal fear in the back of his mind that was telling him to get as far from Mac Gargan as he possibly could. Still...he trusted at least that Gargan wasn't the type to just downright lie about knowing people on the outside who could help him. He'd be surprised if Gargan hadn't been swimming in criminal cohorts.
It was either deal with Gargan for a little while until he could get to the mainland, or deal with a ferry full of terrified prison guards that was warming up its engines.
"...Yeah I remember. What about?" He put on a face that, he hoped, would make him look unimpressed.
Gargan didn't seem to care either way, pulling him up to stand. "We're bustin' outta here. Come on man, just you, me, and a few of my buddies. I got us a boat already on the way."
Who the hell was this guy connected to? Adrian wanted to ask, but he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know.
Toomes considered himself, if nothing else, fit for someone in their mid 60's. He'd always been an active guy, almost purely out of his various construction jobs throughout the decades. That old strength he carried with him however was nothing compared to the heavy, broad strength that a man like Mac Gargan had.
Gargan squeezed his shoulder and all but dragged him away from the docks. Toomes eyed a shank, covered in blood, in the man's other hand. He sighed silently, allowing Gargan to drag him back toward the prison. When it came to fight or flight – Adrian was prone to flight. It wasn't that he was afraid of a fight, but it was best to often bide one's time and take the correct opportunity to strike.
Right now was one of those pivotal moments. It didn't fit conveniently into fight or flight. Rather for now it was fight or follow. Fight Gargan and try to get back to the ferry. Most likely die. Follow Gargan and only maybe die.
Follow it was then.