Chapter 3
Escape from Despair
Rapture, Persephone, December 1958
Drip… drip… drip.
The splashes reverberated around the cellblock as a steady stream of water droplets fell into a long overflowing bucket. Prisoners got used to the sound of leaks after a few weeks, and after a few months, they did not even notice them. That was the nature of the Persephone Correctional Facility, a prison suspended over a vast sea trench, far below the rest of the city of Rapture. All a person really had once their cell door closed was their thoughts and the sound of leaks.
In a darkened cell, Michael lay on his hard bunk, trying not to think about the celebrations that were taking place in the city above. It was New Year's Eve, and almost all of Rapture's citizens were busy celebrating with music, drink and food. Meanwhile, all the prisoners of Persephone had gotten was the same meal they were given every other day, a thin tasteless soup and stale bread.
It had been six months since he had been imprisoned for his union membership. There were many more like him down here, arrested for their labour militancy, along with smugglers, common criminals, and even the followers of cults that had cropped up over the years.
It had not been too bad at first, but after Johnny Topside and a number of other prisoners had disappeared, the place had become just that bit more unbearable.
All of a sudden, the lights flickered on and there was the sound of grinding metal as the door to the cellblock opened. Two guards stepped in and took up positions by the entrance, shotguns at the ready. Three people entered after them, two wearing white doctor's coats, while the other was Augustus Sinclair, Persephone's owner, wearing his usual attire of a white shirt, braces and neatly pressed trousers.
"I'll leave you to look over the merchandise," Sinclair said in his characteristic southern drawl, "If you need me, just yell."
Watching through the bars of his cell, Michael felt a stab of anger. It was bad enough being locked up in this place of despair, but to be called 'merchandise' felt as if they were not even seen as human anymore.
"You'll get what's coming to you Sinclair," he thought savagely.
"Thank you Mr. Sinclair," said one of the scientists in faintly accented English.
"Suchong," thought Michael as the doctor began to make his way around the cells on the far side of the room. Fear gripped his insides. Whenever Suchong and his assistants came to the cells, they always had a few prisoners taken away for 'tests' in Fontaine Futuristics, never to return.
"Hannah," Suchong ordered his assistant, "Could you look over those two?"
He gestured to the cells on the other side of the room where Michael and another prisoner waited.
'Yes Doctor," Hannah replied.
She made her way over to the cell next to Michael and took the name, age and gender of the neighbouring prisoner before asking him to hold out his arm. The prisoner answered and acted without question. Most knew it was better to comply with the scientist's demands, since people who fought back were far more likely to get dragged off to the laboratories.
Leaning against the cell bars, Micheal watched as Hannah took out a vial of odd-looking liquid, placed a few drops on the prisoner's arm, then rubbed it in like sun cream.
The prisoner coughed violently, and even from his cell Michael smelt the fowl, wet dog like stench the liquid gave off. Hannah wrote something down on her clipboard and muttered something that sounded like, "No adverse reaction."
She told the prisoner to return to his bunk and moved on to Michael's cell
"Name," she said, eyes still on her clipboard.
"Come on, you remember that don't you?" he replied.
Hannah looked up and her eyes went wide with shock.
"Micheal!"
"Is something wrong Hannah?" Suchong asked, looking over at her.
"No Doctor Suchong," she quickly replied, "Everything's fine."
She turned back to Michael.
"Thank god you're alright, I was sure something terrible had happened to you."
"Yeah, glad I've avoided a terrible fate," he said dryly.
"Yes, sorry, that was stupid of me to say, I just meant…"
"You'd better do that chemical test," Michael said, rolling up his sleeve, "Suchong's looking this way."
"Okay," she replied, taking his arm and placing a few drops of the liquid on his skin before rubbing it in.
"God, what is this stuff?" he said as the smell reached his nose.
"I can't say, they're keeping most of the assistants in the dark," whispered Hannah, noting the lack of reaction. "All I know is that it's something Ryan has Suchong working on, and it's big."
Michael was about to withdraw his arm, when she pressed something into his hand. Once she let go, he slowly retracted his arm and opened his fingers. Sitting in his palm was a largish flat object with a series of notches along the edge.
"It's a coded security key," she whispered, "It should unlock your cell and any doors in this place, but wait until midnight to use it."
"What happens at midnight?"
Hannah gave him a mischievous smile.
"You'll see."
Stepping away from the cell, she walked over to Suchong and informed him that both prisoners had been tested.
"Neither of them showed any serious reaction to the formular Doctor."
"Very good," he said, clicking his pen, "Now let's see if we can get to the New Year's Eve party before they run out of champagne."
With that they both left the cellblock, the guards following as the door locked behind them. Going back to his bunk, Michael looked down at the security key. Could he trust Hannah? What if it was a trap? In the end he decided it was better than nothing, and besides, even if it was a trap, at least it would be a change of pace from his damp cell.
The hours to midnight dragged by.
9 O'clock
10 O'clock
11 O'clock
11:30
11:45
11:59
Then, from far off, there was the muffled sound of an explosion.
Guessing that was what Hannah had been hinting at, Michael reached through the bars of his cell and jammed the key into the lock. At first there was nothing, then a faint click was heard, and the cell door slid open.
Trembling with fear and excitement, Micheal stepped past the bars for the first time in months and crept over to the cellblock door. Repeating the process, he slid the key into the lock and the door opened with a grumble of gears.
Stepping into the atrium which linked to all the cellblocks, he found it deserted and silent, save for the distant sounds of the guards New Year's Eve celebrations.
He made his way across the cold floor as quietly as his heavy boots would allow, trying to think of an escape plan, when suddenly he froze. Someone was moving about on the upper level.
"How about some fuckin' service 'ear?" A very drunk voice yelled out.
A guard appeared on the walkway above the atrium, a half-empty beer bottle in his hand.
"Maybe I'll… I don't know…DO SOMETHING!"
He then spotted Michael on the floor below.
"Hey!" he yelled, swinging the bottle and spilling most of its contents, "You're not supposed to be here! Get back to your cell!"
He clumsily pulled out a revolver and tried to make his way down the stairs. He barely made it halfway down before catching his shoe between two steps and losing his footing.
"WAH? ARR! WOO!"
The guard flailed his arms wildly, sending the beer bottle flying across the atrium where it smashed against the tiled floor. Then, almost in slow motion, he fell head over heels down the hard metal steps and landed on the floor with a heavy thud.
"That was lucky," Michael sighed.
He pushed the unconscious guard over with his foot. The man's face was an ugly mess of blood and teeth, but he seemed to still be breathing. Amazingly, the pistol was still clenched in his hand, but Michael was able to prize it free and slowly made his way up the stairs.
Just as he reached the top step, a loud snore sounded from the warden's office in the middle of the walkway. Moving closer, he saw the warden slumped over his desk, an empty bottle next to him. An idea came to Michael. With only himself and a single revolver, it was unlikely he would make it to the main city. However, if he could find the warden's key, all the prisoners could be released, and together they might have a fighting chance at escape. Taking the revolver in both hands, he approached the office; the warden's snores almost covering his footfalls.
He stopped as the warden grunted loudly and raised a meaty hand to rub his nose, but soon his heavy breathing returned to fill the room. Relaxing a little, he slowly creped toward the sleeping mass.
After a minute or two, he reached the warden, the stench of alcohol and cheap tobacco hanging around the man like a poisonous cloud. Holding his breath, Michael reached into the warden's top shirt pocket. Nothing. He tried the other, still nothing. He checked the desk, but found only a few cream cakes and soft drinks. He was about to give up, when a glint of metal caught his eye. The key was wedged between the warden's hand and the desk.
This was going to be even more difficult than he thought, but there was no turning back now. Licking his lips nervously, Michael crouched down so his eyes were level with the key. Hardly daring to breathe, he slid his right hand over the cold desk until the tips of his grubby fingers had worked their way around the key. Once they had a firm grip on the thin piece of metal, he gently worked it out from under the warden's hand. It was a slow and painful process, but eventually after five minutes of wiggling and pulling, he was rewarded with the key.
Quietly celebrating, Micheal stood up and was about to leave, when he realised something. He would not be able to get around all the cells and wake up the prisoners one at a time, not without being caught. There had to be a way to open all the cells at once from within the office. He looked at the control panel that lined the wall facing out onto the cell blocks. Set in the middle of the mass of switches, dials and small lights was a rectangular slot, the same as the keyhole on the cell doors, marked, SECURITY OVERRIDE, EMERGENCY ONLY.
"Here goes nothing."
He took a deep breath and pushed the key into the slot.
The result nearly made him jump out of his skin.
An alarm began screeching and a cool feminine voice sounded over the speaker system.
"All cells unlocked, security office sealed temporarily,"
"Wo? What!" a half-drunk voice grunted.
Michael spun around. The warden was awake and had spotted him. Almost without thinking he fired the pistol. The shot missed and the warden lunged forward, throwing him against the control panel.
"PRISONER ESCAPE! PRISONER ESCAPE!" he screamed in panic. "GUARDS! GUARDS GET IN HERE!"
Micheal tried to throw the man off, but the warden had him held down with all his strength. He tried to twist the revolver around, but it too was pinned. Then an idea hit him, and he drove a knee up between the warden's legs.
"AAAARRRGG!"
The warden yelled and staggered back, doubled over in pain. Freed from his grip, Michael leapt forward and smashed the hilt of the revolver down on the man's skull with all the force he could muster. For a moment the Warden swayed, as if confused by what had happened, then he slumped to the floor, blood trickling from his forehead. With the danger over, Michael fell back against the control panel, his breath laboured and heavy.
The feminine voice sounded over the speaker again.
"Curfew lifted, security office unlocked."
With the madness of the past few seconds Michael had forgotten the lockdown. Checking his pistol, he left the office and found the other prisoners stumbling out onto the gangways and lower atrium, looking confused.
"What the hell is going on?" said one, looking up at him.
"It's a breakout ladies and gentlemen!" Michael declared, "Party time!"
With the security key in their hands, the armoury door was opened without difficulty and the prisoners rushed in, helping themselves to as many weapons as they could carry. Breaking open a cabinet, Michael helped himself to pistol rounds and a golden Lugar. How it got there, he had no idea, but he was not going to turn down the extra firepower.
"Right!" he said, addressing the mob who were still stripping the room of anything that wasn't bolted down.
"Oi!"
Some of the crowd turned to him.
"Right, here's the plan. We're gonna fight our way up through the Fontaine Futuristics labs and into the main city…"
"Who put you in charge?" one of the prisoners interjected.
"I did," Michael countered coldly, "Wanna change that?"
The prisoner muttered something unintelligible but said no more.
"Didn't think so."
He turned his attention back to the prisoners.
"You lot," he said, pointing to one group, "Head up to the guard's quarters and finish them off, then come join us. The rest of you are with me. We'll cut a path through to the labs."
He grabbed a Thompson submachine gun from one of the racks and led the rag-tag band out of the armoury.
At first Micheal's group made good progress through the prison, encountering no resistance as they followed a series of glass walled corridors and staircases that led up from the cells.
Then, just as they rounded a corner, they were met by a hail of bullets.
"COVER! GET TO COVER!" Micheal yelled, ducking behind a steel support beam as machine gun rounds buzzed past.
Most of the group managed to follow the order, but a few were caught in the open and swiftly cut down. Risking a look down the corridor, Micheal saw that a handful of guards had thrown up a barricade of desks and crates. It was nothing impressive, but it gave them a full field of fire.
"SHOOT 'EM! JUST SHOOT 'EM!" someone yelled through the confusion.
The prisoners opened up on the guards with a storm of bullets from their machine guns, pistols and shotguns, most of them going wide.
Michael let off a burst of automatic fire, ducking back as a round ricocheted off the glass next to him.
"Grenades!" he called out into the chaos, "Anyone gotta grenade!"
A dark object was lugged towards him and landed at his feet, a fragmentation grenade, just what he needed. Struggling to stay calm, he grabbed it, yanked out the pin and flung it down the corridor.
"Get down!" he yelled throwing himself against the floor, "GET DOWN!".
BOOM!
A blast ripped through the area with a deafening roar, shaking the walls and raining dust down on everything. In an instant, the guards stopped firing.
Slowly Michael lifted himself from his hiding place, holding a hand over his mouth.
"Stay here," he said to the other prisoners.
Hunched against the wall, he approached the guard's position. The sight that greeted him was not pleasant.
The grenade had destroyed the barricade, plastering the guards against the walls and floor. Some of their limbs were bent at odd angles, while others had been removed completely.
"It's clear," Michael shouted over his shoulder.
Moving cautiously, the other prisoners came forward and passed the bodies. Most did not spare them a glance, but some paused for a few seconds to look, unsure if they should be horrified or joyful. Once the last prisoner had passed, Michael followed on, leaving the bodies with only the steady sound of dripping water for company.
