Ah, yes. Red Mesa Penitentiary. Henry's time at trial wasn't long, but he did hear the investigation into his escape was still ongoing. So, he had that going for him. Henry had gone full ghost and no friends or family could be located to come to his trial. Seeing as most of them were in the air probably around Asia at this point in time, one was in Missouri, and the last he heard one was in Wisconsin, it was to be expected.
But now, Henry stayed in his gray, weathered cell with a small-barred window overlooking the dry New Mexico landscape in one wall and one wall being made mostly of bars with a slot in the middle. There was nowhere in his cell to hide with the bar-wall facing the hallway and a bright light both inside his cell and the hallway outside. Quite suddenly, Henry knew what a hamster felt like.
Henry sat on his bed, one foot propped on the bed and the other on the floor, eyes on his lap. Okay, so, maybe he was hoping to see his family, even if it was just Howie, but he knew why he didn't. And of course, seeing Charles and Ellie there would only make him feel guilty because Charles just had that straight-and-narrow, puppy-eyed charm that always made Henry feel bad for even thinking any less-than-lawful thoughts. Ellie would probably just smirk at him and say something along the lines of "How much were the cops rewarded for catching a dumb thief?"
He heard footsteps on the concrete floor. He looked up as a voice called, "Oi, you!" Two police officers, or guards or whatever, stood at the bars to his cage. "You're free to go," said the one with sideburns. His second friend watched, the ghost of a faded grin still on his features but said nothing. He held a rather large box. Henry stupidly couldn't put down the flash of surprise. Rupert laughed, squandering Henry's faint hope and replacing it with hurt and thus indignance. "Not really." Rupert glanced at his partner. "But you've got a package."
Dave pushed the rather large box through the slot barely big enough for it. The cardboard creation, simply stamped with an address and name at the top and a "FRAGILE" stamp on the side, landed on the floor of his cell. Henry perked up. Someone sent him a package? Who would do that?
"Don't get your hopes up," Rupert puffed with a wave of his hand. "We've already checked it for anything useful. Haven't we, Dave?"
Dave jolted. "Huh? Oh! Yeah, yeah! Of course I checked it!" Dave chuckled, his smile rather crooked and nervous. "I mean, if I didn't check it, I'd lose my job, and I don't wanna lose my job! …heh."
Rupert stared at him and then walked away, throwing a flippant hand gesture at Henry. "See ya around." He snickered to his partner, "Free to go. I thought that was pretty good, didn't you?"
Henry, by now ignoring them, opened the box and lifted it away, revealing the… pink and decorative cake it held? He stared down at it, at its fancy writing and the two curled, slightly withered blue candles. As he neared, the top plane split and opened. Henry couldn't judge what gadgets it held, as the inside was weirdly dark as if the ground fell away and turned into a cave beneath it. So, Henry did what any logical person would do and stuck his hand inside. A bottle, a phone, a drill as large as he, a file, a really compact serving dish? Oh, look at that, a teleporter.
Henry had a choice.
…well, files always worked, right? At least, that's what the movies told him. And Howie. He was way too slick and charismatic and cautious. And he usually went to help complete or negotiate business deals more often than breaking into any banks. But he was smart! So, Henry plucked the boring little file from its case and started toward the bars of his cell. He hesitated. But… using the drill, he could go straight down and make a run for it after hitting the bottom floor. Then again, all of that would be a lot of work compared to the teleporter!
Henry pulled out the little gray box with a green panel split into three and a large red button in the center. A slightly crooked wire reached out the top ending in an orange bulb. Hmm… he was seven-ish stories up? Henry had watched the buttons on the elevator as he was pulled up to the story of which his cell resided. One story was about eleven feet. So, seven times eleven was seventy-seven. So, negative seventy-seven feet for his x axis. He could use maybe two yards to account for any fences or objects or overhangs, so six feet for his y axis. Then he didn't need to move forward or back, so nothing on the z axis.
Henry shut his eyes and looked away as he pressed the last button. He felt the world press up against him as if the walls had suddenly decided to jump forward. The world stretched and then… it was gone? No, wait, it was back, and his feet were again on solid, dusty ground. He looked down to see his finger pressed down on the z axis. How far did he go? A hundred feet?
"Ready!"
He opened his eyes, barely resisting a wince at the bright sunlight that he could see unblocked by the scant clouds in the bright blue sky. His surroundings were slightly unfamiliar, though in the desert he found quite a few target posters behind him. He looked forward and straightened his back, only to look straight down the barrel of a gun in a firing range.
"Fire!"
You just can't seem to get the hang of that thing, can you?
Henry frowned at the teleporter. He stuffed the experimental tech back in his pocket. As much as he'd love to pop outside, there was a chance he could appear on the road or in front of a cluster of guards. After all, he couldn't see that close to the wall of the prison with his head pressed up against the bars. Besides, he hadn't quite grasped the technology yet.
So, Henry took out the file with a mutinous grumble. Sneaky, difficult way it was.
Henry spent some time filing through one of the bars, slicing the bottom and near the top. He gasped and stumbled forward as the bar broke off and he dropped his file. Henry looked up as the policeman with sideburns, Rupert probably, spotted him and rushed forward. Henry spun on his heel to confront the man and swung. With a satisfying clunk the metal bar hit him upside the head and the guard was knocked to the side, slamming into the wall and hitting the floor in a barely conscious heap. That felt kinda good. "Free to go" that Rupert!
Henry heard the pattering of shoes but didn't manage to turn in time for something to jab into his side. Electricity burst from the fangs of whatever had been jabbed into him with a good amount of force.
Oh yeah, forgot to tell you! There's another guard coming!
Henry faced off against the policeman and, when he neared, swung. The man stumbled and hit the wall beside him before collapsing. The patter of shoes and a sharp jab in his mind from whatever instinct guided him forced him to swing his pole straight back. He swung without mercy, knocking the guy flat. His activated taser burned him before clattering to the ground. Henry turned around and winced upon seeing the half-conscious Dave beneath him.
The elevator door opened, and he heard a "Hey, he's escaping!" Henry abandoned the pole and darted into what looked like a janitor's closet. He spotted a tub, partially broken plastic hair, and a mop and yellow bucket. A large air conditioning tube with a vent cover ran through the ceiling above him. The vent was cracked open, as if not screwed down properly. Hanging on the wall was a belt of grenades.
Henry had a choice.
Henry grinned and snatched the belt of explosives. Oooh he'd always wanted to use one of these! Henry popped off one grenade, released the pin, and then swung open the door in one swift motion.
"Check yoself!" yelled one of the guards as Henry chucked the explosive and then rushed back inside, slamming the door.
He heard a quiet tink and clapped his hands over his ears. A beeping noise, growing steadily quicker, came to his attention. It was a little too loud and close to be… Henry opened one eye and stared down at the armed explosive. "What the–?" The grenade exploded. Not only that, but its burst caused the other grenades to go off and
Uhh… I don't even know what to say about that one…
He pulled his hand back, glaring at the grenades with a sudden hatred. Hatred of the grenades or hatred of his Not-Angel? Whatever, he still had a bad feeling. Henry glanced around his surroundings. Spotting the purple, partially broken chair, he pulled it up to a vent in one of the air conditioning tubes in the ceiling. He climbed onto the chair and didn't hesitate to crawl inside. Memories of his adventures as a kid flooded his mind as he pulled the vent shut. He gulped and looked to the left and right. In the airship, he'd long since memorized and planned out the network of ventilation and garbage tubes. This, however, was new ground.
Henry had a choice.
Well, no other way than forward was he going to learn where he would need to go.
Henry started to turn left, but noise filtered through. The noise was quiet, muffled by the hard exterior of the ventilation system. Still, he was heavier as a six-foot-tall twenty-four-year-old man than he was a little eleven-year-old kid. He'd make a noise and then someone would investigate. So, he struggled and flipped himself over to go right, the quieter route, where the air was blowing toward him. Eventually, he came to an elbow joint that pointed directly up. It took a little more effort, and almost the breaking of his spine, but he was able to worm his way up. The whirring of an air conditioner was louder here and the cold air brisker. Upon encountering another elbow, this one turning straight back in the direction he came and filled with the noise of a large air conditioner, he pounded at the lining of the ventilation system. It eventually yielded, an entire segment breaking off. He heard a clatter as it hit cement once before going completely silent, as if it found its way off the platform. Or, as he heard no resounding clang later, the roof.
Henry squirmed out, blinking hard at the sudden rays of sunlight contrasting the blind darkness of his escape route.
He crawled onto the hot cement roof, hissing as the bare skin of his hands burned on the stone. He quickly pulled himself up and peered over the edge. Yep! That was quite the ways down!
A crate was behind him. He wormed his fingers under the lip of the top and pulled it open with surprising ease. Within was a harpoon launcher with an absurd amount of rope, a pair of plungers, a jetpack, and a parachute.
Henry had a choice.
Well, was there anything safer than a parachute to survive such a fall? Henry pulled on the backpack and walked to the edge. With one foot sticking out and eyes closed, he allowed himself to fall forward.
Hot wind slapped him hard in the face, yanking his clothes and skin back in the fierce air current as he fell. He tugged on a line in the backpack. Rather than a parachute, a few items–a bowling ball, glass bottle of soda, and notebook among them–fell out. Henry turned down, his eyes widening and a cold flash biting his veins.
He landed hard in the dust and dirt. Before he could register the pain of literally every bone in his body being broken and his insides probably ruptured, the bowling ball followed him down, its flight ending
I think that was just a regular backpack. See what happens when you assume?
Henry discarded the thought of a backpack. As nice as it was, there was something… fishy about it. Instead, he brought out the jetpack. Why parachute when you could just… fly away? Besides, he'd get much, much farther away with a jetpack than he would a parachute.
He strapped himself in, rechecked his harness, and stepped up to the edge of the building. He held tight to the control sticks, staring fiercely into the distance, and–nothing happened.
Henry let go of one of the sticks and then yelped as the jetpack burst off. He grabbed the stick and attempted to control his flight, but he only ended up flying in a jagged, looped, messy path before flying straight at the building.
He crashed through the wall of his old cell. His body, broken and crushed by the cement and power of the jetpack, tore a jagged dent in the floor.
"Oh, look. You're back."
It takes many hours of Jetpack training before you're able to operate one.
Henry discarded the jetpack with a disgruntled huff. No parachute, no backpack, what now? He pulled out the plungers. As cool as a jetpack would be, he had no idea how to use it. Maybe he'd learn later. For now, he had a prison to escape.
Henry stuck the plungers into the side of the building and carefully swung himself down. He pulled out one plunger and, as his body dangled and offered no resistance, stuck the plunger into the wall and brought out the first.
Eventually, the man made it past the first story. He let go, falling past the raised foundation and onto the desert ground below.
The sneaky escapist looked around and, grinning, rushed off into the desert. He had some ways to go before he could reach the bank vault, but he could make it. He'd find his scooter and then bam, he was back in business!
…he'd need to grab his stuff and ditch his apartment. Well, it was early in September. So, he was due to come back home soon, anyway? No, he was due to come back during December. He wasn't scurrying home after breaking out of prison. He needed to reconstitute himself, find a new place, and pull off a successful solo mission.
Henry found his scooter in the desert. He didn't have very much to pack, knowing his apartment was extremely temporary. Henry took a shower and changed into something more presentable and filled his suitcase. His laptop case was separate, but he wouldn't dare leave that behind. He scrounged through his apartment, pulling up every last stash of money, information, and little treats and bobbles he forgot he'd horded.
When he was satisfied with the apartment, Henry brought his things outside, tied down his suitcase and laptop case to his scooter, and dropped by the currently closed landlord's office. He scribbled down a form releasing his hold on the apartment before leaving.
Henry rolled up to a bus station and sat on a bench. He leaned back and flipped through his phone. He needed a good place to stay, somewhere with potential. Cheap, small, and unassuming, he'd be somewhere he could duck his head and lay low. The place would need to be somewhere in the same city or near a city with something valuable. There was something priceless–well, expensive as priceless would defeat the purpose–in that place that he could hopefully pull off a raid.
Well, museums were always good, right?
Henry searched some medium museums; not too big to be swarming in guards, not too small to hold few things of value. A town over, he found a few promising places. With the tree cover from surrounding forests, there was potential. He might not be able to run his scooter through a forest, but he could duck and cover or climb trees whenever necessary. Unless they unleashed the hounds, but why would they throw dogs into a search over something that wasn't about a murder?
Anyway, there was a spot with some cheap apartments, not very many stars tagged onto the name, and near a big city with a couple hot spots. Museums, jewelry stores, and banks that weren't vaults being among them. Neat! He had a plan!
…when should he tell everyone else, the curious part of him wondered. How would they react to him escaping prison? Well, Ellie and Charles wouldn't react well, and maybe not even Dad Reginald and Dad Right for being caught. But he'd made his way out mostly undetected and definitely not followed. He didn't leave a paper trail. He didn't even have a banking account, and his papers were definitely going to lead to dead ends. Since Henry wasn't in prison for murder, they might just tack up his name on a wanted poster or something and leave it at that. Probably. Hopefully.
Henry, growing ever more tired, ordered some tickets on the closest train he could book as well as a hotel nearby. He'd look for apartments tomorrow.
So much for Charles and Ellie. The thought hit Henry like a brick. He couldn't just drop by their place or say hello. He couldn't go back on Discord or call them. He was a criminal, a thief, a known one. They'd hate how he got caught and how he broke out of prison. An ache stole his chest upon thinking of Ellie and Charles. Well, he still had his family in the Toppats, though. Just maybe not at this second. Should he say goodbye to James? He liked the man, but… again… escaped criminal.
Henry sighed and leaned back on the bench, shutting his eyes. Now that he thought about it, being an escaped criminal kinda sucked.