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Bane22

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« on: (22:46:34/07-24-12) »
Subject: "Ragnar". He would not give us a name.
Year: 2078
Location: Maximum facility Rig, Pacific.
Details: Suspect is 5'4", Dwarf metatype, brown hair, no facial hair. Age is 68, though he's a Dwarf, so he just looks barley an age over 25. His only weapon was a black steel combat axe, which I find pretty funny and stereotypical.
First night in the prison, he said he would get out, and fight the bitch that murdered his family and friends, and put in him here. What vulgarity. After placed into his cell, he shaved his head into a 'mohawk'-style cut. The next day he had gotten into a fight with three other inmates, one a troll who nearly killed him on the spot had our officers not intervined.

He was put in solitary confinement.

* * *

Ragnar hung in silence, chained to the black, abyssal ceiling. There was nothing here. He had to get out. Why was he here? What had happened? He had to figure this out. Then the chains lowered and a light glowed below. "Hoi chummer." He heard. It was an officer.

"Asshat. What you want?" Ragnar asked, growling. He should have bloody damn stayed in Seattle.

"Asshat? That's not very nice..." A brass knuckle slipped onto the officer's hand, and the Dwarf felt steel collide with his face. It happened again and again. So much it didn't even cause pain, just a white-hot burning sensation. By the twentitch blow, Ragnar could not see. "Poor baby. So tiny. So alone." He kicked him in the groin, and Ragnar let out a loud gasp which evolved into a howl.

"BASTARD, I'LL GNAW YOUR ARM OFF ONCE I GET OUT!!" Ragnar was enraged beyond reason. He wanted his weapon. A weapon. A gun, knife, anything.

"Nope. Shouldn't have been a terrorist, then, Gimli. Bye!" Ragnar heard his footsteps as he slowly walked out, and then was surprised by another slam to the face. He felt something warm and wet sliding down his cheeks and dripping off of his chin. "Okay, bye for real." He felt a couple slaps on his wet cheek before the footsteps faded, and he heard the mechanics of the door sliding back into place. He then felt the chains raise.

So he was blind now as well.

* * *

Days? Months? Nights? Weekends? How long? He did not know. He could not know. Then the chains shifted, and he was lowered. Footsteps. The guard was coming to kill him. "You're in bad shape lad." He heard. It was an English accent, norhtern England. Yes.

"Yeah? Thanks."

"You cannot see me?" The voice replied. Ragnar was silent for a good minute.

"No." He finally said, coming to terms with the situation.

"Ah, righto. I have no numbing medicine, but I can give you some cybereyes that I've acquired..." He heard shuffling, and then felt searing pain in his eye sockets. For the next two hours all he felt was pain. There were breaks when the voice was shuffle away into the shadows to avoid footsteps outside the cell, and then they'd come back. At the end of the second hour, he felt feeling in his eyes, and then opened them slowly. He saw an Ork wearing a brown trenchcoat. "Oh, Hell..." He ripped off a piece of a black shirt from his pack and blindfolded Ragnar with it. "Once we get out I can properly fix up your eyes lad. They look, well, disgusting now. We've got to go!" He undid the shackles.

"Who the hell are you?" He asked.

"I'm Mozer Holmes. You do not recall me?" He asked, shocked. "We went to Africa once, fighting ghouls. That was back in the 2050s, though. Hoboy. Okay let's go."

"But why are you coming to save me?" He asked, curious beyond reason.

"I was here, and I heard you were being kept here. I am a doctor now, my friend, no longer an investigator. I suggest we leave before I get fired..." He placed cuffs onto Ragnar's wrists.

"Star Wars?" Ragnar asked.

"What?" The Ork looked up at him. "Oh, yes. That movie, bloody Hell that's old. Yes, okay, Star Wars."

"Raaarrrggghhh." Ragnar growled, though he was pissed as hell, and felt like an idiot weaing this blindfold. At least he could see. And would be out. "Where t-" An elbow hit him in the neck.

"Sorry lad, I forget you're tiny."

"It's fine... Will I get my axe back?"

"Uhh... I could try, but let's get you to the boat first..." Ragnar was soon sitting on a prison ship, with a hundred other inmates ready to be shipped off to England. Oh joy. At least Mozer was there, but he was off with the officials. Ragnar just sat back in his seat, and slept. A thing he was used to doing by now.