Note : So, my friend looked over my shoulder today and caught what I was writing and he was like 'WTF, they're STILL not out yet?" So yeah -laughs- I'm taking so long to get them out I bore myself too. Sometimes I wish I can just type one sentence like 'Then they dug a hole using a shovel and crawled out' and be happy with it but...Alas. The inner narcissist. I speaketh to hear my own voice. Oh yes, and I forgot. All poetry/lyrics before the chapter title belongs to me, other than the bible verses and the obviously pilfered ones.

And yeah...Sat on my glasses and broke them. So any updates will be...Crawling. If you care.


I'm on the highway, baby

I'm on the freeway,

And I'm coming to you baby,

I'm swinging your way,

***

IV : Eastward Flight

Daryan was back on the road again – and boy, the prison was really heating up like a crinkling potato. The thing was – the explosions had pretty much died down on the other side of the prison. Even the faint boom boom sounds and the acrid smell of metal being scorched and melted off and doing whatever it was melting metal was doing had worn off, or at the very least stop irritating his nostrils. But the thing was – and here's the catch – the fire hasn't. The fire had spread to block C, and was now enveloping his and Kristoph's and every other Cee inmate's belongings. It was halfway through it, and on it's way to Block B – and nobody cared.

Everyone was stashed up against the South Gate – inmates and officers alike as everyone tried to stop everyone else from getting out. The officers formed a wall of humans against the inmates, and the inmates pushed against it. The inmates had numbers and bravery – well, they're criminals, aren't they? You don't go out to a bar and pull the trigger thrice and shit in your pants when the time comes for some action. The guards on the other hand, they had guns, and they ain't afraid to use it, from the sound of it.

He winced as another sharp crack filled the air, and made for a dash towards the therapist's office. An officer ran pass him, shouting as he went.

'Hey man, we need people down south – come on!"

Daryan had grunted and pulled his cap lower. Lucky bastards sound like they were reaping all the benefits from their little coup de grace, not that Daryan was particularly bitter about it. The more of a mess his fellow inmates made, the easier it was for them to slip out unnoticed. When the officer had left, he made another dash for it across the yard and twisted down into Block A – the only block that was completely silent, not because no one wanted to be there, but because no one can be there. All the partitions in the area had been shut down by Kristoph, and all the officers who had been sleeping or resting or was just passing by Block A was locked down in it – and they were staying there until Kristoph allowed them up.

He waited patiently in front of the partition leading to the therapist's ward, tapping a foot. Kristoph was just going to throw more stuff in, hit a coupla' buttons, and go and get Machi. So that was the plan – Kristoph gets Twerp and he gets some stuff from the therapist's officer. As usual, Kristoph didn't bother telling him the finer points of the plan, but then again, he was used to that. Klavier never used to tell 'em anything until the ball starts swinging and the ax starts chopping, so why should Kristoph be different? Whole bloody family and their high-handed ways.

The red light above the partition flashed and turned green and the gate silently slid upwards, like a ghost sentry had hoisted it up it's cadaverous horse. Efficient, Daryan whistled. He was used to that too.

The next few partitions slid up the same way, and before long he was in the therapist's office, fingering through the documents until he got what he wanted, sitting on a large file dump on the woman's table. That was one down. Then he ruffled the files in the cabinet until they yielded the medical IDs Kristoph had told him to get. He removed the cards and the thingamajigs, filled them up, and stuck them into his backpack. Two down, one more to go.

The third was a little harder – the second last cabinet, he had said. Marked with some kind of label like 'Schizophrenia' or something. Daryan had just about heard that disease before, but it was in relation with some other boy band guy, and he wasn't all that chummy with them. All he knew was it was some kinda disease where people go around hearing you saying things you didn't say, or saying things to things you don't hear. Either way, it was some sorta loony thing.

He opened the cabinet, and a musty smell assailed his nostrils. The shelf hadn't been used for a long time, and it had the dust stains to prove it. Only a small corner had seen any action at all, and Daryan removed the little bottles of medicine there. One was labeled 'anti-depressant'. That was suppose to be one. He took it and stashed it in his backpack, then a few bottles of everything else for good measure too – hell, if someone saw the contents of his bag right now, they would probably think he's a junkie desperate for a fix. Then he searched the other sections until he found the medication. A syringe and a bottle of clear colourless liquid joined the stash.

And..Cut. That was about it – all he was told to get. Now to return and hopefully make it in time before Kristoph went all apeshit on him again. And this time, if he pissed him off again, he was pretty sure Kristoph's hand wouldn't do anymore 'slipping.'


Klavier was in a horrible mood. His hair was a mess, insofar as he was concerned anyway, and his shirt was one button more unbuttoned than usual. In fact, he looked like someone who had just escaped from prison, and if someone had asked a complete stranger right now who was the defendant in court, they would probably point at him. Certainly, he looked the part. And, he felt the part too! He had no problem thrashing someone to kingdom come right now, starting with, say – the guy, whoever it was, who sent those sleazy pictures of him to the press.

The guy had caused him – him! Klavier Gavin! Exclamation marks! - to have to drag himself from bed at six in the morning. Not because he felt any fondness for fresh morning air or because the trial started that early, but because if he went any later the crowd of paparazzi around the entrance of his house will be back like a bad smell again. It was worse than the incident with his brother. When that had happened, they had wandered around his house for days, shove their mics up his face and asked him questions. Then they went back and typed out stuff he didn't say and print it out for high school girls and grubby housewives to grab.

This time they didn't even bother with asking him questions, they just told him, like.

"You must be feeling real upset now, right? But of course, only natural. Now, you must confirm with us, what possessed you to send them to the press? But of course! We entirely understand, you must be feeling insecured right now, with The Gavinners disbanded."

And he kept telling them nein nein nein nein nein, but they only mouthed back ja ja ja ja ja ja.

And he had forgotten how many times he repeated himself. No he did not send them to the press, yes he is revolted and disgusted at the idea of naked him on the front pages, yes he will press charges if they do not cease. Yes, he is going to find the person who did this and press charges, yes he has no wish to corrupt the mindset of the young. What does April Moderato think about this? What does that have to do with anything? He's not dating her dammit! And no! He doesn't have any self-esteem issues but that is not the point!

He sighed, and slumped lower on the prosecutor's lobby couch, raking a bronze hand through his hair. Truck, please come over and run me over already.

He checked his watch. Not even eight yet – and the trial started at nine. One more hour and a half to go, one more hour and a half to waste. Klavier brandished his cell phone like a sword and went back to his Diner Dash, surrendering to the destiny of mindlessly wasting his time here and going over files he knew by heart, when soft heels clicked on the floor and he looked up. Standing at the doorway, with his beanie off and his hair spiked back into shape, was Phoenix Wright.

He flashed the best grin he could summon under the circumstances. "Good morning, Herr Wright."

"Hello, Klavier."

"So early?"

"I had some files I needed to retrieve from the court library – and I heard you were here, so I dropped by to say 'hi' " The man grinned back at him. "See what a nice guy I am?"

"Heh. Attending a trial later?"

"Yeah, the Anderson case."

Klavier's eyes widened a fraction. He hadn't been interested in who was defending the case, and hadn't bothered asking Kaz, other than to find out if it was Apollo. "You're on the defense for it?"

"Well, technically, Elizabeth is. But she's gotten herself into a spot of trouble with another case – indecisive jury and prolonged trial with special permission, so I had to kick in for this." He sighed. "And I was looking forward to a good ol' cup of Joe with Armando too."

"He got released without a hitch then?"

"Yeah, it's wonderful what the words 'guilty by reasons of insanity' can do. He just got released from the asylum with an a-OK."

Klavier nodded. Godot, or Diego T. Armando was a pretty famous prosecutor in the PO, not through sheer number of cases but through sheer style. How many prosecutors do you know who fling mugs at people? Virtually none.

"I guess you'll be facing me later then."

"You're prosecuting the case?"

"Yeap."

Phoenix gave him a smug smile. "Trucy will have fun hearing about how I thrash you then."

"Oh? Got a trick hidden in those panties of hers?" They laughed. Klavier smiled thoughtfully – it was good to see Phoenix Wright back in the court with his badge restored – especially since it was he who took it from him in the first place. One of the last things he did before his vacation was to raise enough hell to get his badge given to him, pronto.

"Oh yeah," He said, trying to sound casual. "What happened to Herr Forehead?"

An eyebrow went up. "You haven't faced him in court?"

"No, I haven't seen him since that case. Did he tag along when you joined the Fraulein's firm?"

"No, he chose not to join Devereux and I," He shrugged. "Pity, we can really use another lawyer right now. Everyone there is either a paralegal or hopeless."

"Of course," Klavier agreed amiably, but he wanted to swing the topic back to Herr Forehead. Everyone seems to know what happened to him, except him. "So...He's gone back to his bicycle-firm?"

Phoenix gave him an odd look. "You're really out of the loop, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't be," He grounded his teeth. "If people stop beating around the bush and tell me what I want to know, ja?"

That got a smile. "Actually, he went back to the Gavin firm."

That took Klavier by surprised, and he nearly dropped his cellphone in the progress. The firm was the last thing he had expected to be mentioned.

"But...It was taken over by that atrocious Thompson, nein?"

"Yeah, and he blew it. Wimpiest lawyer I've ever seen. The firm went down..." He tapped a finger thoughtfully on his lower lip. "Around a week after the case I think. That was when I told Apollo I'm joining Devereux's firm – but he said he wanted to go back to the place. Thompson was only glad to fob it and the mortgage off on someone else."

"It's the Justice firm now, then?" Klavier chuckled at the sound of the name. "That would make a good pamphlet, wouldn't it? ' Come get your Justice here!' " He mimicked Apollo's booming voice, poking fun at it.

Phoenix laughed. "Too bad though, he decided to revert the name back to Gavin."

Klavier looked up, surprised. "But...My brother isn't there any more." He said, confused. Surely he wasn't the only sane person on Earth who still can understand that fact.

The grin was wiped off Phoenix's face as he scowled at no one in particular. "I have no idea either. I don't know why. He was alright up until that last case – even after Kristoph was imprisoned for Shadi. Then Drew Misham happened, and he suddenly got all stone faced." He shrugged. "At any rate – if you really want to know about him, I think you'll have better luck asking Trucy. She's the only one still in contact with him. The rest of us are merely here to watch him blow us into smithereens." He laughed, and Klavier laughed with him. Another man perhaps, he would accuse of jealousy, but not Wright.

"At any rate, I should be going," The man said. "The library awaits." He winked at Klavier, who nodded weakly, and left - leaving Klavier to his thoughts.

He stared at the Game Over sign on his cell phone and grimaced – perhaps he shouldn't have been so hasty in taking that little break of his. Sometimes, when so many people crowned him as the center of attention, he can't help but forget that there are other people besides him on earth – and that those people have feelings too. He sighed, raking a hand over his hair, and made a note on his cellphone to give Apollo a ring later – assuming he hasn't change his cell number.

When he was done keying it into his calender, he sighed softly.

"Oh, Herr Forehead, you still haven't gotten over it, have you...?"


Daryan couldn't help but admire the stamina of the other inmates as he ran pass them. They were still going at it – still trying to overcome riot shields and helmets and batons with fists and heads and skull against metal. You can't help but admire tenacity like that – especially that tiny group - just now so dejected during mess, and now suddenly they were like cornered beast at their most vicious.

Down the yard, he could see an officer on the phone, shouting above the noise to be heard through it. Daryan stopped – just a moment won't hurt – to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"Sir! Please link me over to Chief Devereux! It's important!'

He looked around the place, fidgeting nervously, expecting to be taken down by a stray inmate at any moment.

"Mr. Devereux!" He cried in relief a moment later. "It's the prison sir—What? Pizza?" Daryan swore, fighting a smile. Bad news was, Kaz was in on the action – and that boy would probably order the artillery squad to blow them all to pieces if he thought he could get away with it – though he still couldn't stop smiling. Kaz was probably giving them the famous absent-minded shoulder.

"No sir, it's the CSP! There's a riot! NONO, NOT A RIGHTWA- A RIOT! A RIOT!"

Daryan didn't bother staying any longer to hear the officer desperately trying to explain on the phone that the CSP inmates were on high. He returned back into the buildings – which temperature has now risen to good ol' 40 plus – and strike down for the dining hall. Kristoph had promised that that path would be open – as he had completely shut down the path Daryan had taken earlier. Not that he wanted to use that one anyway – it was longer, not to mention he would have to step over...That man.

Thinking about it made him sick again, and he pressed on, footsteps going pat pat pat in the dark, damp hallway. He had set off the fire alarm, just to make sure the place was wet and even messier and more confusing. It wet the backpack a little, but who cares anyway? He turned into the dining hall, now a literal 'mess hall' indeed. Food everywhere. Food on the floor, food on the tables, food on some unconscious people – casualties of brawling, he presumed.

He was halfway through the hall when suddenly he ran into an officer who had been squatting down to check on another man. He stopped short, nearly tripping over the unconscious man in the process.

"You! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be down at the south gate?"

"The same could be said for you," Daryan retorted. Wrong answer – the man's face darkened.

"Don't give me lip! Come over here!"

Daryan took a hesitant step forwards – and immediately regretted it. The light was bad, and he only saw until up close that it was Fields. He swore under his breath, even as the man recognized him.

"You! Crescend! What are you doing here?" He stared incredulously at him, eyes taking in the uniform. "You're not planning to--"

Daryan took another step back. Dammit! Why hadn't he thought to bring something else as a weapon? A screwdriver would go a long ways in this kind of situations. He searched the area desperately, trying to find something that he could use to poke this man into non-existence.

"I swear to God, Crescend, if you're doing what I think you're up to..." He advanced on Daryan, who took another step back, eyeing the nightstick surreptitiously. What he wouldn't give to have one of those...Then Daryan's eyes widened, and Field's eyes widened too. A moment later, Field's slid downwards – towards his own chest, where a kitchen knife had pierced him from behind. He turned his head sideways, mouth agape – and saw the same thing Daryan was staring at.

"Must I do everything myself, Daryan?" Kristoph asked, looking almost bored. He squinted his eyes painfully a little. "Come on, these contacts are going to be the end of me."

"Wha-HEY!"

He grabbed Daryan by the wrist roughly and pulled him along, heading towards the garage. Daryan struggled and broke free a moment later, tagging after him, two paces behind.

"What did you do that for!?" He yelled.

For for for for for For for for for for For for for for for For for for for for For for for for for

The word echoed in the hallways, and it sounded as if the hallways itself were demanding an answer. Kristoph batted away an invisible thing, though Daryan didn't noticed the motion.

"You could have just left him alone – knock him out or something!" He shouted after the man. "You didn't have to kill him!"

Kristoph didn't even bothered turning back. "No? What if he wakes up – and tells someone what he saw? If they successfully calm down the other inmates and realize that we're missing – they'll order a manhunt. It's a desert for miles ahead of here, if we don't put enough distance between us, we'll be caught before long."

"But s-still--" Daryan stuttered. "You didn't have to KILL HIM. For fuck's sake, you could have just I don't know – knock his brains loose. You don't have to--"

Kristoph stopped, and Daryan crashed into him from behind. He turned around, and this time there was a murderous glint where there wasn't.

"I think you're having trouble understanding, Daryan," He started sweetly. "We're bound to hang – no matter how many we kill. I can kill a hundred people, and they can still only break my neck once."

He leaned forward and trapped Daryan in front of him with an arm. "You see, I – unlike you – want to get out of here. No, correction. I need to get out of here. There are people I want to see, things I want to tell them. Time to spend with them that I feel God has owed me. And if anyone gets in my way," He stabbed a finger into Daryan's chest. "I'll dispose of them – and I won't stop doing that until I get whatever I want. Are we understanding each other?"

Daryan nodded weakly. They were both criminals convicted of first degree murder, but Kristoph was in on a whole class of his own. The kind that make it onto Most Wanted books and Most Famous Criminals encyclopedias.

"Good, let's go." He said pleasantly. He resumed his stride, and Daryan followed him. Five minutes later, they were back in the garage.

"So, did you get the boy?"

"Yes," He answered simply. "He's at the back of the truck – get in there."

Daryan nodded, and the both of them slipped into the darkness behind the truck. There, bound and gagged and flopping weakly on the ground was Machi Tobaye. Daryan hissed the moment he saw him – a victorious little hiss, like a beast who has finally cornered his little bird.

"Well, well, what have we here?" He scraped a finger pass the side of Machi's cheek, and he cringed.

"Save the theatrics," Kristoph snapped. "Where's the stuff I told you to find?"

"Here." He handed the backpack over to Kristoph, and knelt down beside Machi. "How did you manage to get him?"

"He was hiding at the safest place he knew – where no one would think of finding him."

He slid a glance over at the man. "And how did you know where it was?"

Kristoph sneered, rummaging through the contents. He found the bottle of anti-depressants he told Daryan to find and slipped it into his own pocket. A few more bottles went in too. "I was the one who told him about it – I met him just days ago. Fresh in his memory, a place no one knows about – the question's not even why he would go there." He removed a bottle of medicine and the colourless liquid, along with the syringe. "It's why wouldn't he go there?"

He expertly flipped the syringe around and pumped the liquid into it. "Untie his hands and find me a nice vein." He ordered. Daryan did as he asked, but when Kristoph moved in, he shot out an arm to stop him.

"Wait – tell me what it does first. You're not going to poison him, are you?" Machi's eyes widened at 'Poison'. Clearly a word he understood.

Kristoph merely smiled and tapped around the small arm for a vein. When he poised his syringe again, Daryan snatch it out of his hands.

"Tell me what it does first." He insisted stubbornly.

"Must I?" Kristoph snapped, eyes narrowing into slits. "You want to kill him either way – what's the difference now or later?"

"If I wanted to kill him just like that, don't you think I would have just done it here?" Daryan snapped. "Why would I go to all these lengths? Now – answer me, what does this do?"

His jaw set into a stubborn clench, and for a moment, Daryan thought he wouldn't answer. Finally, he sighed. "Have you ever heard of Electroconvulsive Treatment?"

"Nope, never. But it sounds badass."

"Well, it's a treatment for catatonic schizophrenia, as well as some comatose patients and depressive people." He nudged the bridge of his nose, even though there weren't any glasses there.

"Basically, the theory is to pump a couple of million volts into the patient to zap the brain back into activity."

"Yeah...And how does that relates to this?" Daryan waved the syringe in front of him. "Anyway I look at it, it ain't plugged."

"There are alternatives for everything. ECT is controversial, so some have developed drugs to replicate the effect instead. This," He tapped the syringe. "Is one."

"Glad to see your loony sessions yielded some." Daryan retorted, handing back the syringe to him. Kristoph accepted it and while Daryan held down Machi, injected it into his arm.

"Now, you'll stay here." He ordered.

"Why?"

"The drug's for catatonic patients. It basically fires up their brain. What do you think will happen to a perfectly normal kid who isn't catatonic?"

Daryan looked dumbfounded, and he sighed.

"Give it a minute – or five. Kid's going to have a seizure." He explained, climbing out of the truck. He let down the flap, stopping only to explain further. "Now, I'm going to drive. Just keep that kid from thrashing right out of the truck. Ready?"

Daryan nodded.

"Let's go then."


"And that is why, assembled jury – there is no way this sweet woman would commit something terrible!" Klavier shouted across the courtroom, brandishing his pointed finger like a sword. The crowd roared their approval, and clapped loudly until their hands were sore and the judge's gavel faint.

Wright merely sighed. "I can see your point."

He smiled discreetly at Klavier, and Klavier smiled back. They both knew that the woman couldn't possibly be the murderer – anyone with half a brain can tell.

They both tilted their heads upwards as the Judge contemplated the matter.

"Hmm...I see your point. I suppose it's now time to pass a verdict?" Wright nodded. "Very well then, I'll ask the jury to vote on it! And vote, jury, with all the facts in mind. The court will adjourn until the jury reaches a unanimous decision or on another day, in which case a date will be set forth. Court is in recess!"

The gavel banged once, twice, and the jury filed into the judge's chambers. One winked down and squealed when Klavier winked back at her – and he smiled. The case was as good as won, especially with Wright to back him up. He started stashing his files away into his empty guitar case when Phoenix came over and clapped him on his back.

"Good job there, Prosecutor Gavin."

Klavier smiled. The public gallery began to empty, and Phoenix walked off behind them, leaving Klavier to straighten out his stuff. He always seemed to have more stuff than any other lawyer – mostly because his musical sheets were stuffed away into them too. When he was done, he clipped his guitar case (Because guitar cases are just that much cooler than a briefcase) shut and turned around – right into Nail.

"Hey, Nail," He grinned at his friend – looking strangely out of place in the court with his startling light blue hair.

"Aw man, did I miss the trial? I thought I would be on time but bah – Balderdash. Maggey made me get some paperwork for her and refused to bug off until I did."

Klavier raised an eyebrow. "You were going to attend? What's the occasion that can even get the great Nail Colfin to come running to the courtroom?"

"Yeah well.." He ruffled his hair. "I just left my stuff to Ema? She's plenty happy to do everything for me. So I figure I'll drop by to see how my mate's first trial after two month goes."

"The Fraulein Skye? You realize that she failed her forensic's exam don't you?"

Nail's face stopped – literally froze. "WHAT!? She told me she was waiting for it to arrive!"

Klavier laughed. "Nein – she flunked it. Twice, from the rumour mill I believe. I think you had better leave before she messes up your work." He slapped Nail on the back and he took off like a charging bull. The smile on Klavier's face lasted until Nail left through the door, then he rummaged through his guitar case until he found his cell phone.

He stared at the number – he had been wondering all trial if it would be okay to call him, or should he just drop by for a visit. He knew where his brother's offices used to be, and it wasn't like he could have moved them that quickly. Then again, it seemed sort of weird. What was he going to say to Apollo? Herr Forehead, I heard that Forehead of yours have been crinkled with worries, and I am here to smoothen it out, ja?

The forehead would probably crush the phone in a headbutt, He laughed at the thought and just punched in the number. Screw doubting, that was for sad sacks.

Beep. Beep.

The phone beeped, and Klavier leaned against the prosecutor's bench patiently, waiting for the phone to go through--

The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please try again later or contact our operators.

Klavier swore and snapped his phone shut. Two months. Can things really change so fast in two months? – apparently they can, because not only has Apollo moved back to Kristoph's firm, revived it and now – changed his cell phone. Two months, and it was like the axis of the world had changed for the guy, or the poles have switched. He swore again, and made another note on the calender.

2. Find out the Forehead's number.

He smiled. He was starting to feel like a stalker.


Dennis Lemon and Denver Lemon were brothers, and like their name suggested, were often sour. They were often sour about many things – but first and foremost on their sour list was always the fact that they were gate guards. Not just gate guards either – they were guards to the least used gate in the whole of the CSP – The eastern gate. Most trucks, whether they're for medicine, or food, or whatever, left and came through the southern gate. The convicts came from the direction they were from, though it was usually south too. The eastern gate was so rarely used that the gates creaked when you move them, and the guards creaked along with them – slowed down by old age and lack of use.

Today though, they were just glad that they weren't guarding the southern gate. There was a riot there and people are getting beaten up and flattened down left, right and middle. They were just glad they weren't there – a place where they have continuously applied for years to be sent to – because today, it wasn't a good idea to be there. It wasn't a good idea to be anywhere within 5 miles of the CSP, but it wasn't like they could run or they'll be pegged for being AWOL. Still, feelings of dread clung to the air, and it was with a feeling of trepidation that they watched a truck rolling towards them.

It pulled over, and they walked towards it to check it out. Inside, it contained a blonde man neither have ever seen before.

"What you heading out for?" Dennis asked the man.

"We need to send a patient out of the place."

"Why can't the medics patch 'im up?" Denver asked, suspicious. He had been a guard for a long time, but he had never seen this man before.

A head poked out of the back of the truck, a 'sharp' looking black haired man. "The medic wing's down. Some sick fuck closed the whole place down, and now nothing will open till everything's over."

"Huh." They grunted, and Dennis moved to the back of the truck. "So what's wrong with the guy?" He raised the flap and peered in and immediately dropped it. "Jesus Christ – what's wrong with the kid?"

It wasn't a pretty sight – the kid, whoever it was, was slumped down on the ground – shaking and shivering all over like a wet dog. Dennis had seen a kid being poisoned by a snake when he was a kid himself – and it ain't a pretty sight, he can tell you that. Just like the kid – only the poisoned one had been spitting out yellow stuff, and this one was frothing at the mouth. The man pushed the kid down when he tried to get up.

He motioned at his brother. "Kid's sick alright."

Denver stepped forward to the blonde man. "Right – so where's your paperwork?"

The blonde man said nothing, producing a thick shaft of paperwork and handed it over to Denver. Denver's eyes were old, and they weren't used to reading, and it was only a minute later when he handed it back to the man, unread. " 's alright. Get going then."

Dennis released his hold on the flap and it fell down. He slapped the back of the truck, and called out to the man behind. "You get the kid okay now, y' hear?"

He slapped it again, and with another vroom, the vehicle started and plowed forwards – leaving nothing but a cloud of dust. If Dennis had watched more carefully, he would have noticed the pulse of the the black haired guy going at a mile a minute, and Denver would have noticed the faint indent made by a lifetime of glasses on the blonde one's nose . No one wears glasses in prison who does legwork. But then again, both were old and failing – and with another wave, the two men left the failing prison behind.


"Klavier?"

"Kaz? What's up?"

"You're still at court?"

"Yeah."

"Is the trial over?"

"Yeap."

"Did you win?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good. I have something to tell you."

"What is it?"

"Maybe you should get a seat first."


5 miles down Hamilton 45, headed towards L.A, Kristoph's knuckles weren't quite as white anymore. The grip wasn't a death grip, but it was still a strangle-grip.

10 miles down the road, and Daryan started breathing normally, opening the flap just a fraction to see if anyone was pursuing them, or if there were helicopters down from the CSP trying to get a hold on them.

20 miles, and Kristoph felt safe enough to turn on the radio.

45, and they pulled over beside the road. Daryan tied Machi to the wall of the truck, got down, and sat on the passenger's seat beside Kristoph. Then the engines roared back, and they were going down the road again – towards freedom.

"Damn," Daryan said as the miles roll on. "We really did it, didn't we?"

Kristoph managed a smile – one that wasn't nervous anymore. Well, not quite as nervous anyway. "Not to jinx it of course, but yes – I believe we have sufficiently so."

"Damn," Daryan said again, shaking his head in slight disbelief – a smile slow dancing it's way onto his face. "We really did it."

Kristoph smiled, and cranked up the music – stuck on some country folk channel. He didn't change it over to classical.

"So, what now?" Daryan asked. "You going back home, ain't ya?"

"That would be too obvious I think. I think I'll lay low and find out if he's still there."

"Hmm," He hummed noncommittally.

"You?"

"Ah, you're gonna jet as soon as we hit L.A again, ain'tcha?"

"That's right."

"Well – I think I'll be taking the truck then."

Kristoph frowned. "You sure that's a wise course of action?"

"Not really – but don't worry about it. I'm just gonna use it until I get into contact with some old friends of mine. I have some on the flip side too."

"Very well." A nod. "Make sure you remember to wipe off any fingerprints."

"Well, duh." Daryan reached up, and crank the music to max. Some song drifted through the speakers, one he wasn't familiar with. But soon enough, the lyrics caught on, and he sat up a little higher, poking his head through the cut out roof and singing with the radio, hands opened wide as he enjoyed the feel of the wind ruffling his hair.

I'm on the highway, baby

I'm on the freeway,

And I'm coming to you baby,

I'm swinging your way,

**

I'm coming to you, baby and

Ain't nowhere you gonna go,

I'm gonna catch you baby, I'm gonna catch you,

Because you're mine, baby,

mine baby mine


Ho-hum~ And by the way, yes, ECT exists. So does cata Schizo. But obviously, I've taken my liberties with them.