Carrington had dropped him in it. Five years running ops for the man so dark they made a black hole look like a fucking christmas tree. And after Bolivia? Just a life sentence and his augs ripped out of his skin.
If this place had a name it was more redacted than his own. No one knew he had been taken, his own squad would have been broken up, scattered between every other force in the IPA until there was nothing left. Another fuck you from the general.
It had happened once before. Evening detail, back from a room with ink walls so cheap you could see the scan lines in the “outdoor environment” that constituted his one hour of sunlight each day. And there, at the end of the walkway, the vent was loose. Maintenance had been up all day, inmates locked in or shut out. And someone had forgotten one.
He’d been under escort at the time. The last riot had thinned the herd so to speak, which meant the guards were taking no chances. But this time? This time they dropped him off, left the cell and forgot to throw away the key.
The vent led to the shafts. The shafts rose and twisted and branched, but eventually he came out into a dank storeroom, brooms and cleaning supplies piled around. Opening the door he realised nothing had changed. The best forward ops points were always in plain sight.
The car park was lit by a few bulbs. Black cadillacs sat in neat rows. And one was idling right outside. Carrington rolled down the window.
“Get in,” the general said.
He paused and considered ramming a broom stale through the drivers window.
“Do you know how hard it is to break someone out of here? Much less have to do it twice because the idiot is too dumb to take a chance.” The general rolled turned to face forwards and revved the engine. “I’m not gonna ask again.”
Prompt originally posted by Whothefackareyo on reddit and received 1 upvotes.