Face honestly could not have expected anything else to happen.
Within five seconds of entering the room, he'd knocked one of the security guards onto the ground with the butt of his shotgun.
Within seven seconds, he'd spun around and shot another guard that was reaching for the alarm.
After nine seconds, another guard he hadn't detected withdrew his pistol.
After ten seconds, Face slammed him in the chest with a shotgun shell.
After ten and a half seconds, the guard stumbled and fired off a shot from his non-suppressed handgun: The baton Face assumed was strapped to his belt actually turned out to have been the detached suppressor.
So, ten and a half seconds into stealth-breaking out Jim, and now the alarm was going to be raised because one guard had a muscle spasm after being shot.
God, Face hated it when that happened.
The guard he had knocked down onto the floor was getting himself up already, and the one who's just been shot was leaning against the wall, limply clutching his pistol whilst he radioed in. Growling, Face turned, flipped his shotgun over to hold it like a bat, and kicked the recovering guard back down onto his back. He grunted in pain, and a noticeable red patch began to spread across his ribs. He then flipped the shotgun again, and repeated the action of shooting the guard with the radio. This time, following on from the loud zap sound from his suppressed shotgun, the pellets hit the man in the head, and sprayed gore all over the wall as he slumped to the ground, trailing red behind his skull.
Face recognised him.
That was Jones.
Nobody liked Jones.
Face looked down at his feet again, to the guard that was still there. He was rolling himself over, crying and whining quietly to himself.
Face didn't know this bloke.
Meh.
He crouched slightly, and delivered a shotgun butt to the back of the man's head, knocking the suited guard out instantly. He stood up rapidly, and peeked out of the window, the sound of the man who'd been shot in the arm groaning loudly. Much to his disappointment, there was a squad of guards running across lower level catwalks towards the stairs that led up to the control room. Leaning in further to look at where they were, Face had began to reload shells into his gun when a loud burst of gunfire ripped against the glass of the control room and forced him to get down. Already, lights were flicking on around the cell block, and an alarm was already starting up. Inmates were already against the bars of their cells, looking around as walls of orange against rods of black in an attempt to figure out what was going on.
OK, stealth was already out the window.
Face got up again, and slipped his silenced shotgun into his backpack as he began to look over the vast array of buttons on the control panel. If he could open all the cells, he had perfect cover in the form of inmates.
Lots of inmates.
Plus, if people went by his mask, then he was a member of the White Fang that freed everyone. He might even fix a few societal problems whilst he escaped.
That idea fresh in his mind, Face began to flick all the switches. He didn't even read the labels. Flickity flick flick. All the flick. Lights glared on and died just as suddenly, cell doors flew open, catwalks rotated, alarms changed, the PA turned on briefly, all kinds of crazy things happened.
And finally, all the cell doors slammed open, and roaring crowds of criminals tore out of them to give the guards a piece of their mind. The suited men were washed away by flurries of orange, giving Face the perfect opportunity to leg it. He stepped back, ran forward, and leapt up, drop-kicking the window to the control room and smashing the glass. He flew straight through, the glass' previous weakening by gunfire definitely contributing as he plummeted to the ground and landed with a loud crack of bone and unexplainable spatter of blood. Frankly, Face didn't care where it came from: He just needed to get the fuck out of there. Before long, the inmates' eyes would turn to him, and it wouldn't take much longer before someone caught on to who he was.
So without even missing a beat, Face withdrew the shotgun again and clicked in three more shells as he began to dodge and weave between crowds of inmates surrounding and smashing the guards. He moved like some type of ferret that was wearing a hat and carrying a gun, slipping through small gaps and delivering the butt of the shotgun to those who attempted to stop him. The roaring crowds of incredibly pissed off inmates easily outnumbered the security forces by a good seventeen to one, and that didn't even count that some of the inmates could probably punch a tank into pieces, so there was no chance that any of the guards'd be around to tell anyone what they saw and create further enquiries. It did bother Face. The guards were alright blokes. Especially Jerry. He didn't really want to consider that he had brought about the deaths of those who had done him no wrong, but then again, he was a Sniper: The people he used to kill on a daily basis didn't even get a chance to do him wrong before their eyes were relocated to the walls behind them.
But even then again, they were intending to kill him, so it would be self defence. The guards would only intend to harm him if he had been instigating a riot or attacking another inmate, and even then, the most they'd do is knock him out or break his arm or something of the like.
Face decided to stop thinking about it.
A few seconds before he reached the main exit door, there was an almighty bang as the door's handles were blown straight open, and the doors themselves were booted wide, revealing a whole squad of the robots Face had encountered earlier. Each of the robots was armed with some form of assault weapon, and each looked more deadly than the next. Of course, were they humans, Face might have tried reasoning with them, but since they were military-grade combat androids, then there was absolutely no chance that anything could stay their trigger fingers. Instead, the only thing that was going to happen was that in the three seconds following the door breach, all hell was going to break loose.
Raising his gun, Face delivered a single shell to the head of the lead robot, with a marginally worthwhile effect: Sparks flew from the impact point, and the machine staggered slightly, raising a hand to assess the damage. Good. They could probably be killed. He hoped. Ripping the pump back and slamming it forward, he fired again at the same robot's head, using the recoil as a small momentum boost so he could backpedal. As the robot's head burst open in a shower of sparks and circuitry, Face turned to the rioting inmates, running straight into the midst of the sea of orange jumpsuits just as the sound of gunfire rang out behind him. Inmates roared in panic, starting to run as a crowd towards nearby exits and cells for cover from the bullets being spat by the robots' weapons. Face had barely made it to a room that he knew had a service ladder into the sewers when a sharp pain shot through his left calf. Grunting and stumbling, he looked down as he slammed into the door, smashing it open, and got a good view of the ragged hole that his leg now sported.
"Fuck!" he yelled, before circling around the door and leaning against it. A few bullets pinged against the door, and Face had assumed they were meant for him, when a sudden force pried the metal door open slightly and in slipped an inmate. Face was honestly surprised to see that it was exactly who he'd been looking for. "Jim?"
"Yeah, that's me," replied the man, before grunting and leaning against the door. "Give us a hand, you lazy git!" Face now understood that he was trying to shut it, and quickly moved to help. Once it had both Face's and Jim's weight on it, it closed much faster, finally clanking itself into a locked state and leaving the two in the small maintenance room. Outside, the sound of gunfire rang out sporadically throughout the jail, and every so often, a mechanical voice ordered the inmates to disperse. Otherwise, Face now had a moment to breathe, which also gave him the time to look for the ladder he knew was in the room. However, the poor lighting, coupled with Face's strange habit of wearing sunglasses all the time and his silly White Fang mask, made it rather difficult to spot the ladder in question. Squinting, Face made his way into the room as Jim leaned against the door, breathing heavily and rubbing his forehead free of sweat. "Never thought I'd be sayin' this to a White Fang goon," he gasped, "But cheers for that."
"Glad to know you recognise me, Jim," Face whistled, delving into a pile of supply boxes and pushing them apart. Jim raised a brow behind him and stood up.
"Should I be knowin' you from somewhere?" he asked cautiously, narrowing his eyes. Face didn't reply, instead choosing to put his energy into moving a heavier box out of the way. Jim obviously didn't have the patience. "Hey! I'm talkin' to you! You fuckin' Extremist twat!" Face groaned, and turned to Jim finally, ripping off the mask.
"Hey, a fucking 'thank you' would be bloody nice," he shot back. Jim leaned back in surprise.
"Face?" he chuckled, finally smiling and folding his arms. "I thought you'd got out."
"As I have," he replied flatly, finally shifting the box and lifting the manhole lid into the service tunnels below. "And now I'm getting you out." It was fairly dark below: Face decided that it'd be best to try out one of those fancy police shotguns he'd nicked. Taking his backpack off and storing the silenced shotgun inside (loaded, of course, because it probably wouldn't go off in his bag, he hoped), he reached in a bit further and his hands caught purchase on the pistol grip of one of the guns, allowing him to withdraw it. It was fairly sleek, but didn't seem too different from the shotguns he saw Mann Co. Lawyers using: Black, pistol grip, made of mostly metal but with bits of plastic, weird shaped pump, but it had a torch and a laser on it. He was also certain that the one he had stolen wasn't made by Mann Co., meaning its chances of a blowing up and punching him in the face decreased by over seven hundred percent. Jim frowned.
"I know I owe you one, but how about I get a soddin' gun?" Face paused.
"You'll also need to get changed. You're dressed as a fucking convict, and you'll look shifty as hell."
"Well, what am I gonna wear?" Face paused. Then, he smiled, as he remembered what he'd taken earlier in the night. Opening his backpack again, he took a brief rummage around until he found it. Then, he withdrew, to Jim's surprise, the neatly folded suit of the guard from the evidence locker, complete with a suit bag and coat hanger. Jim stared at this.
"That bag's fuckin' magic."
