Weapon Frayer; Been sick the past 5 days, it's really sucked.
My favorite chapter!
Laurel Silver; Full chapter! Finally! And it's all Green Day, yeah!
[St. Jimmy, Green Day]
And Gilbert feels like some sort of saint, heaven sent to lead these people in revolution against an unfair prison system, against a prison system favouring an angel face like Detective Jones, against a justice blind to all but race. Here he comes down the alley way, his army of delinquents following closely, up onto the boulevard of dreams like a zip gun on parade. He leads like a king leads his subjects of the cult of the life of crime, the king of the forty thieves, the resident leader of the lost and found.
The rain beats down, as it has something desperately awful to cry about. The lights streaming through the windows of skyscrapers float on the falling tears like a halo.
[Holiday, Green Day]
"Do you want to start a war?!" Elizabeta screams out loud, as many people in the Loop cheered, and the rain falls. "Well then, Viva la Revolution!"
The people scatter throughout the Loop, police helicopters flying high above the mob like vultures over prey, when a projectile launched from the ground strikes a helicopter's rotor, and explodes in a small, powerful energy blast.
"Fuck! That was an EMP!" the pilot screams, "We're going down!"
The pilot struggle to maintain control before his metal vulture goes up in a blaze of red and heat, and it falls onto the elevated Lake train station, setting the station on fire.
Elizabeta douses the pavement and some vacant vehicles with gasoline, and throwing matches into the inevitable inferno that was to become of Wabash Street.
The resulting real-life counterpart of Dante's Inferno lights up like an Armageddon flame as a team of police, all geared and padded and dressed up for a riot, tackle Elizabeta Hedervary to the ground.
[21 Guns, Green Day]
Liz hands are cuffed firmly behind her, as 12 SWAT guards guard her, escorting her to the courthouse. She is battered, bruised, and injured, yet the damned racist Jones forbid any visitors, not even a medical professional. She feels like killing him softly, slowly, with the sweet, sweet taste of vengeance in mind.
"Alright you whore, let's get you into your seat…." The guard mimicked a sexual action that would make even Gilbert hurl before proceeding to push her into the courthouse.
Elizabeta is shoved crudely into the courthouse, falling face flat onto the carpet. Then, the door closes, and she only has one way to go; forwards.
She staggers through the courthouse, catching eyebrow-raises and stares, hands still cuffed leading to laughter from unhelpful watchers as she struggles with door handles, until she reaches the courtroom. Then, she sees the jury, and knows that she is screwed.
Elizabeta sits, dazed, defeated, dead-hearted, as the judge speaks; "The defendant now has the floor."
Elizabeta rises.
"You may now speak."
Elizabeta opens her mouth. "Do you know what's worth fighting for?"
Her singing startles the jury. the judge raises an eyebrow, but doesn't stop her..
"When it's not worth dying for? Does it take your breath away, and you feel yourself suffocating?"
The jury think of their war experiences, Vietnam, Korea, and even World War II, World War I, places and times colliding as reality, unbeknowingly, continues to warp and twist and unravel. The plaintiff, Jones, and his attorney, snarls.
"What is this?! This is, and should never be allowed in a court of-"
"Plaintiff, the defendant is speaking. Do not interrupt, or charges will be made against you."
The detective growled, as Elizabeta's voice rings through the courtroom.
"Does the pain weigh out the pride? And you look for a place to hide? Did someone break your heart inside? You're in ruins…"
Her voice is crystal-clear, resonating in everyone's ears, her golden, silky smooth voice touching the hearts on the jury. Tears fall, stones drip forgiveness, hearts resonate with life and love and loss.
"One, twenty-one guns. Lay down your arms, give up the fight. One, twenty-one guns. Throw up your arms, into the sky. You and I…"
Meanwhile, Matthias and Ludwig are at the top of the courthouse. Thanks to the mysterious Russian Elizabeta had been babbling about and a connection of Matthias's, they would be able to save Elizabeta and free Gilbert.
"Mein Freund," Ludwig speaks to the Dane, an old habit of using basic German slipping into the mechanic's speech, "Where did you get these explosives? And how did you manage to get them past courthouse security?"
Matthias grins. "My Emil has a friend who's a bit of an expert with explosives. Especially ones that can scare without hurting anyone."
Ludwig sighs. How can Matthias have so many connections? He pushes it back to the back of his mind, to focus on his current objective.
"So, the plan is simple. We'll jury rig-"
"Nice pun there, Ludwig!"
"Will you please shut up right now?! Seriously, do you want to free mein Bruder or not?"
"Alright, alright!"
Ludwig sighs again. "So, we'll jury rig the explosives on the roof, and then go in, retrieve Elizabeta, and then run like hell to the car."
"Sounds good to me."
Now, just to wait for the cue.
Back in the courtroom, meanwhile, Elizabeta is at the final part of her defense. The entire jury is crying, and the normally composed judge is shedding tears. Detective Jones is at wit's end, reaching slowly for his handgun, when suddenly Elizabeta's smooth voice takes a dark twist, and venomously swears at the white All-American.
"Did you try to live on your own? When you burnt down the house and home?!"
The ceiling begins to crack, Detective Jones's gaze snapping upwards.
"Did you stand too close to the fire…"
Molotov flares up on Jones's papers, scaring him and his attorney, who flees outside of the courtroom.
"...like a fucking liar looking for forgiveness…."
Alfred's blue eyes clashes with Elizabeta's green, Alfred's fear and surprise, and Elizabeta's rage and contempt represented directly by their stare.
"...from a stone."
Alfred's world blanks, as a shard of ceiling knocked him out cold.
Elizabeta blinked, and in the flash of a second, Matthias and Ludwig are dragging her out of the courtroom.
"Come on Liz, we need to get out of here!" one of them shouts, but she can't tell which over the panicking noises of the jury.
They hurry down the steps of the back entrance, Matthias grabbing a sharp stone from the ground and and throwing it at a pickup truck's window.
"Come on, come on Matthias!"
Matthias jumps into the vehicle, throwing the large shards of glass out into the back of the pickup truck. A man comes running from a nearby building, yelling about "Hooligans! Attacking my truck!"
Ludwig shoves Elizabeta into the passenger seat before facing the man, pulling a Luger from his jacket and laying the German accent on thick, because Americans are ironically afraid of immigrants. "Hello, Old Man. Can we borrow your Automobile?"
The driver nods comically fast. "S-sure."
Ludwig pulls a roll of duct tape from his jacket, smoothing it over the license plate as Matthias unscrews the panel, hot-wiring the car.
"Elizabeta!"
Elizabeta snaps her gaze around to see Roderich, of all the people! He's running out of his car towards pickup truck.
"Elizabeta, I heard about the court case. Why didn't you tell me about what you did?!"
Liz is starting to get disturbed. This is not at all like Roderich, his aristocratic composure non-existent. He isn't even wearing his trademark cravat, for Heaven's sake!
"Roderich, we can talk later. Meanwhile, if you want to come with us, get in the back."
Roderich regains his composure, climbing onto the back of the pick up truck with a leg-up from Ludwig, sitting down as dainty as one can in a dusty pick-up. Liz is once again disturbed, but she shrugs it off as Matthias gives a whoop and the engine revs to life, it's owner cursing after them as they drive off, the flames of the courthouse and the flashing of emergency vehicles flickering off the shiny red paint.
Weapon Frayer; Writing the 21 Guns part almost made me cry from pure epic ness.
Sorry I haven't been on; school's been piling up, and coughing blood doesn't help when you're trying to recover.
Laurel Silver; Gilbert and the prisoners have been (mostly) rounded up and taken to a heavier guarded prison in Wisconsin. That'll probably be written into the next chapter, but in case any of you were wondering.
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