NOTE: If you have read this far, you can probably tell there are three main story lines going. Some chapters will continue back to back storylines, while other storylines we may not get to for several chapters down the road. This is mostly due to the time line of the story – I hope it does not detract from the overall picture. Again thank you for taking your time to read, and as always I hope you enjoy

-AF Iron 135

CHAPTER TWENTY: JAILBREAK?

The jail door opened up again. Three guards – two armed, and the third one with a set of long black shackles… clearly for the next interrogation victim, stepped just inside the room. One of the gunmen spoke, "Alright… you, prisoner #4," he said pointing at Wet Suit, "Your turn again. Overkill wants to see you."

Shipwreck sat against the wall, in a half-fetal position, holding his wounded arm and wincing in pain. He looked like he had been beaten within an inch of his life. He had been brutally beaten during previous interrogations, and although his physical body was in bad shape, he still had some life left in him. But now, after the last interrogation, he looked utterly defeated. Physically… and mentally. Though he was the leader of the group, he said nothing.

The guards noticed that Prisoners #2 and #4 (Torpedo and Wet Suit) didn't look like they had been in any better shape, either. They were sitting on the ground in clear despair next to the lifeless body of Gung Ho, visibly in mourning.

It was Deep Six… typically the quiet one, who spoke up on behalf of the others. "Nice work." Sarcasm oozed out of his mouth as he spoke bluntly… bluntly like he always did, but going out of his way to get under the skin of the guards. "Your tyrant interrogator beat him to death. He's been dead over an hour. How do you expect to get information out of any of us when you keep killing?"

The guards stopped, surveying the scene, making sure it wasn't a trap. The marine on the floor did in fact appear to be dead; his face was hardly recognizable – bruises and swelling disguised his normal looks. His body was beyond broken. Marine or no marine, there was no way he was alive.

The guard in the back – the one with the shackles, told the one of the gunmen, "Get him out of here. We'll let the Wraith decide what he wants to do with his body. He can probably use this to our advantage."

Another one snickered, "Two down, four to go."

Deep Six didn't move, but the three ex-SEALs stood up – slowly – in a weakened condition but with defiant anger.

"You're not touching him! You want him? You'll have to come through me!" Torpedo shouted.

The both gunmen simply pointed their weapons at the resistors. "Not a smart idea. Because if I have to, I WILL come through you to get him. Gladly."

Anger and fury weren't strong enough words to explain the feelings of the American prisoners. Every one of them wanted to leap forward and either strangle the guards with their bare hands or else snap their necks with a firm yank, but they knew they were helpless against bullets. They clenched their fists but knew they couldn't stop them from taking their friend; they didn't step back, but reluctantly held their ground.

"Oh, and #4," the guard said pointing at Wet Suit, "We'll be back for you. Don't think we'll forget just because one of you croaked. There's plenty more of you that'll get your chance to die, like him," the gunman said, kicking the still body of Gung Ho. One of the guards trained his gun on the Americans while another bent down to haul Gung Ho out of the room. With his free hand, he bent down, grabbing the collar of the marine, and tried to drag him out of the room. The body barely moved.

"Does this guy have lead in his pants? He's freakin' heavy," one of the gunman told the others, slinging his rifle all the way over his shoulder and squating down a little more in order to use his leg muscles to help drag the body out of the room.

Little did he know this was a critical mistake.

With every shred of strength left in his body… although it wasn't very much, the marine grabbed the hand that was pulling him with his own hand, yanking the guard downward; as he stumbled downward, Gung Ho grabbed the dangling assault rifle, using it to flip the helpless guard onto his back. Turning over on his side, Gung Ho took the rifle and slammed the butt in the guards face as hard as he could and with every last ounce of energy he had in his body.

The other gunman, startled and caught off guard, raised his weapon to fire at the possum-playing marine, but his lack of awareness and slow response gave Torpedo and Shipwreck enough time to move. Torpedo went high, punching him in the face as hard as he could, while Shipwreck went for the gun. Ship quickly wrapped his arms around the rifle – not to seize it from the guard but to control the direction of the barrel, ensuring that even if the guard was able to pull the trigger, the bullet spray wouldn't hit any of them.

It was clear that the wounded soldiers were hurting – but not in as bad of a condition as they let on.

The third guard dropped his shackles and turned around to run as fast as he could; Wet Suit took off after him.

The guard that Torpedo struck was knocked out cold before he even hit the floor and plummeted downward like a sack of bricks. "Grab the other rifle, Deep Six, we gotta get the other guard before he gets reinforcements!" Shipwreck shouted, while securing his own rifle from the unconscious guard. Deep Six, making sure Gung Ho was alright (and he was; he was hurt, badly… but Gung Ho gave the thumbs-up sign), grabbed the extra firearm.

Wet Suit ran as fast as he could through the concrete bunker and gradually gained ground on the other guard, slowly closing distance between the two with each long stride. The guard turned down a long, dark tunnel, momentarily out of Wet Suit's vision but he didn't see anyone else. I gotta get this guy before he gets backup, he thought to himself, turning the corner and scanning hard through the darkness in an attempt to reacquire his target. Wet Suit could make out the figure in the darkness running away – he continued to pursue.

The other four soldiers gave chase; Deep Six and Shipwreck were already in pursuit of Wet Suit and the fleeing guard while Torpedo helped Gung Ho on his feet, carrying him on his shoulder. "I know you're tired, buddy, but you gotta hold in there for a little longer."

Almost got him, Wet Suit thought, reaching out his hand, just inches from the back of the guard, trying to stop him before he reached the end of the black tunnel.

But just a half second before he could grab him, something – or someone – stepped out of the shadows and grabbed Wet Suit. The ex-SEAL never even saw him.

It was Overkill, their interrogator. In an instant, Overkill had his arm wrapped around Wet Suits neck. His grip tightened and his arms locked in place; mercilessly he tightening his grip and began to strangle the American with all his might.

Wet Suit tried to fight back, using every trick in the book, but as big of a man as he was, the monstrous prison guard was bigger – much bigger. He scratched at his arms in an attempt to cause a shock of pain, but Overkill did not weaken his grip. Wet Suit tried to back kick Overkill's knee, but the interrogator was much to experienced and able to assume a stance that wouldn't allow Wet Suit to reach him.

With one last desperate attempt, Wet Suit made an attempt to slide his leg in-between Overkills. He slid it through successfully and tried to kick not the knee itself, but behind his knee, hoping the interrogator would buckle and lose his balance. Slamming his foot into the back of Overkills leg, the large interrogator started to lose his balance. For a moment, it looked like Overkill would fall.

But he caught himself before he fell and quickly reestablished his footing. Overkill tightened his grip, desperately trying to squeeze the life out of Wet Suit.

Raising his arms, Wet Suit tried to grab Overkill and flip him over. His arms couldn't even reach; he was just in too weak of a condition from previous interrogations. He tried to gasp for air. Wet Suits vision started to blur. He tried one last time to twist free, hoping he could slide out of the grasp of the larger man.

He twisted, jerking violently, pulling himself downwards, desperately trying to breath. Trying to get at least one breath of air… enough to sustain him and give him a burst of renewed energy to fight back with.

But he couldn't break free of the choke hold.

Then, there was nothing. Blackness descended upon him. He fell limp in the Strangler's arms.

Overkill kept his hold, muscles flexing, squeezing with all of his might. All the time without saying a word. Compressing his hold. Tightening his grip. Squeezing as hard as he could.

Squeezing the life out of him. He dropped the former SEAL to the ground, staring at his victim with cold, red, bloodshot eyes.

He was dead.