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Showing results for tags 'Thingy'.
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So, yeah. As per usual, I've started another project. I have no title for it right now, but here's the Prologue: I can't tell if I've been here six months, or six years. They say prison time goes slower if you count the days, so I guess that can account for it. Hell, I don't even know what time it is. My cell is in the solitary wing. No windows, no contact with anyone other than the guards, and hardly any light. I spend most of my time trying to keep sharp. Jumping jacks, squats, whatever. Anything that can get my heart rate up since I don't get any yard time. From what little the guards will say to me, I know I'm locked up on Rikers Island, in New York on Earth. I never had a trial. As far as I know, they wanted me locked away before I had time to organize my OWN breakout. They'd been after me for years though. I'd spent years, blindly following the Insurrectionist doctrine, Planning breakouts of political prisoners, PoW's, anybody the Insurrectionists decided they needed freed. I got damn good at it too. From local precinct lock-ups to entire prison camps, I could organize a near fool-proof plan to get anyone inside out. Doesn't really work as well on the inside, though. And seeing as the Innie's left me here to rot, I guess I won't be getting out at all. I never really did see eye to eye with their xenophobic view of things. I never held any contempt for the UNSC. Far as I saw, they did good things for Mankind. Only the Innies held to their old, rather racist ways. I guess I just got used to it. Not like I had a choice. I was born into an Insurrectionist farming commune. From day one, they pounded their ideals into our heads; taught us to fight, trained our minds and bodies. I never really had time, nor the inclination to think of what else was out there. They also say prison gives a man too much time to think. I think it gave me just enough time. Who knows the damage I caused over the course of my little career of terrorism? In the name of what? Racist separation? Keeping cultures separate? Doesn't seem worth a damn now that I look at it in hindsight. It was pretty big news the day the UNSC finally caught me. Seems every Holo-site was blaring with cheers of “MENACE CAUGHT: Gregory Doyle; Insurrectionist Mastermind: Behind Bars.” I guess the UNSC has some pretty good PR teams. Since then, I've been disconnected from the events of the universe. According to one of the few guards who will actually speak to me, It's so I can't utilize anything I might see on the news or the like to organize a breakout. Other than that, I get simple food, no utensils, nothing. So, when I heard boots marching toward my isolation cell, I figured it was lunchtime. Or dinner. Or breakfast. Whatever. “On your feet, Doyle.” I heard through the slot on the door. “It's your lucky day.” “Double rations?” I said with a smirk as I walked toward the door; intent on retrieving whatever tasteless paste they decided to give me today. I had to admit, I was stunned to hear the locks on the door clicking open. The heavy metal door slowly slid open, and a UNSC Marine waved to me. “Let's go, Doyle. Your number's come up.” “My number?” I said, stepping forward cautiously, sticking out my hands to be cuffed. “Don't ask too many questions.” The marine said, waving me in front of him. “You'll find out what this is all about in a bit.”
