The Escapee

[steveo]

The light in the hallway was dim, a single geriatric bulb hung from the ceiling on a foot of wire, but that didn't keep Gerry from seeing the cracks in the walls, the loose chips of paint precariously clinging to one another. The place smelled old, a pungent combination of aged floorboards and water rot. A faded yellow light slipped around the door at the end of the hallway, dying before it'd gone more than a few inches in its freedom. Gerry could see movement, harshly interrupting the light along the bottom of the door. As he put his right hand on the knob, the needle in his right offered mute reassurance; the tazer in his pocket concurred.
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Shihan of Martial Arts Sandwich Making and author of Christopher Ford, Amateur Paranormalist

[JIM]

[TechnoAtheist]

There goes Johnson again.
<ol>Is he fighting with his remote control again</ol>looks like it. He's holding it behind his back. I'm trying to figure out what he has in his other hand, though looks like a... oh man.
<ol>Hmm, what?</ol>It's an enema again.
<ol>Your turn. I got him last time.</ol>I got squirted with that damn thing two months ago. I smelled funny for days.
<ol>And last week you forgot to get his bedpan and I had to deal with cleaning him up from his helmet. Besides I'm busy</ol>You're reading the paper.
<ol>I'm keeping up on world affairs. It's what evil prison gards do, don'cha know. So what's he doing now?</ol>He looks like he's making his sprint for the main door.
<ol>Oh good we've got time then.</ol>Yeah, at least half an hour. It's a good twenty feet.
<ol><ol><i>BZZZzZzzzzz!</i></ol>Yes, Mrs. Thomas?


No, Mrs. Thomas, I'm quite sure that the toaster is not posessed by deamons.

Mrs. Thomas, we went through this last Tuesday when you swore that you were being stalked by undead pastry items, do you remember that?

And were they undead, Mrs. Thomas?


That's right Mrs. Thomas, they weren't. It was just that Mr. Simons needed a change. Roy will be by in a few minutes.</ol>*groan* Oh that's nice. Looks like Johnson's got a cheering section now.
<ol>Ooh, that's not good</ol>I wonder if they know they're supposed to fall down when Johnson pokes them with the remote?
<ol>Hup, he's going for the needle.</ol>MR. JOHNSON!!
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The Grayhound Chronicles
"TGC is less like a web serial and more like the Al Azif in bite-size form."
--~Steve-o

[Hetta]

"Okay Roy, go get him."

Roy went.

While Roy's attention was elsewhere, Tom quietly opened the desk drawer and retrieved a small square box, which he hid on his person. He then returned to the table to read his paper. Just in time... Roy, soaking wet, turned to him for some moral if not physical support.

"Come OOON! You know he's difficult to handle when the moon is new!"

"Oh alright", said Tom, and went over to help.

[Narratio]

Jennings the gate guard was 19 and new on the job. He'd been working at 'Wafflemania' since leaving school at 16 but, despite recieving the prestigious 'worker of the week' gold star 4 times, he felt he was going nowhere. So he'd quit. And now here he was, on an extra 75 cents an hour, nightshift gate guard at the Reichman Asylum for the Criminally Insane, Terminally Psychotic and Down Right Loopy. With his feet up on the desk, a bag of chips and a large soda beside him and esconced in a very warm, very quite office, he was in low income heaven. Who ever visited insane asylums late at night? He glanced nervously through his window, there was always that scene from Terminator 2 of course...

A security monitor blipped and showed a view of the minimum security ward. Roy and Tom were working the late shift. He'd gone bowling with them once or twice. Nice guys, but they'd been hanging around working with these geriatric ex-supervillains for too long. Yep, there they were, wrestling another failed world conqueror into a fresh pair of adult diapers. His hand reached out and slapped the search button. Now, where was Nurse Clements? She who was Miss Minnesota 1958 and still cut a commanding figure in her starched white uniform.

The monitor flickered as it cut between cameras views.
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Age and cunning will always beat youth and talent.

[bobthegoat]

Nurse Clement quickly darted into the attendants' room and started searching Tom's desk as quickly and quietly as possible.

She swore under her breath, "Damn, it's not here. He must have it on him. He always was a suspicious man." Peeking through the window, she saw Johnson trying to vigorously inject Tom with the "mute" button. It wasn't working.

"HALP!" shrieked Tom, and crumpled to the floor in a bad parody of every inept guard taken down by a super spy.

Roy shook his head and hoped that Mr. Johnson would take the "helpless" guard hostage with the enema bag instead of retreating as he usually did.

Mr. Johnson decided that (fortunately) that his cell was the perfect "closet" to hide the body. He dragged Tom, with Tom's help, to his room. As soon as he thought no one was looking, Tom activated the box.

"Damn," Nurse Clement swore again. "I have to warn the Captain."
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Bob the Goat: All the goat with none of the Malevolence

[TSGarp]

[Narratio]

And this is where it all began to go wrong.

A state of the art security system grafted onto 1920's government designed public structure. As soon as all the state of the art security devices tripped, so did the power supply. The entire Asylum was plunged into darkness. Security cameras failed as UPS systems didn't UPS. Everything went dark. Nobody was getting out, but nobody was getting in.

This left Tom and Roy, Jennings the guard and the salacious Nurse Clement locked in the blackness with 50 geriatric supervillains. Most of whose medication was past due, as well thier adult diaper changes. The whole bed pan problem was not to be considered.

Things were going to get messy.
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Age and cunning will always beat youth and talent.

[bobthegoat]

Tom dropped the box and reached for his Maglite. It turned on, pointing in his eyes, being held by Johnson.

Roy, never the brightest bulb in the box, turned and ran in, what he thought was, the direction of the attendants' room. He abruptly took the business end of a bedpan to face, hurled by Lyndon Ford*.

Nurse Clement crept along the wall of the dark hallway, trying to not be noticed by any of the inmates and especially not the guards. She had to get back to the psychotic viligante ward where she'd be safe.

Jennings absent-mindly wondered why the double-wide phone booth that was gate guardshack needed four-inch armor plating and went back to playing his Gameboy.


*ed. note: No relation to Christopher, just wanted to close up the presidential references before that got out of hand.
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Bob the Goat: All the goat with none of the Malevolence

[Narratio]

Back at the Govenors mansion;

"What do you mean 'another' alert? I thought that place was filled with over the hill loopy old nutballs?"
"It is govenor. They are old, they are loopy and they are very much over the hill. It's just that they are still somewhat... fiesty."
"Fiesty? You said that the youngest person there is a 68 year old one legged man called Lee something... Osric, Oswald? I forget. How is a geriatric cripple going to be 'fiesty' in heavens sake!"

The aide looked chagrined. Which was hard as he couldn't spell the word, but he'd been practicing. Next week he was to work on his moue. Which was really hard as it needed a funny speech mark above it and sounded very foriegn.

"Look Govenor, it's hard to explain. But these people are, or were, the best of the best. The finest atheletes, scientists, lawyers, weavers, firemen, tinkers, tailers, soldiers, sailors..."
"Got it. And why are they all there?"
"A tragic accident sir."
"Explain!"
"One of the earliest proto-telethons sir, on the Blue Network. The very best were gathered to ask for money to be given to help our boys in the war."
"Which war?"
"I think it was the second world war sir."
"Okay, and then what happened?"
"It's classified sir. We don't know."
"Well, who does know?"
"A man called Mr. Johnson. First name of 'Bob' I believe."
"And where is he?"
"Inside, with the inmates sir."

Silence fell as the Govenor considered his position. Maybe he could get back into the movie business?
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Age and cunning will always beat youth and talent.